


The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl

by Valaskia



Series: Lion and Wolf [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal, F/M, Fingering, Forced, Oral Sex, Spanking, Taboo, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 11:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 61,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18570391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaskia/pseuds/Valaskia
Summary: Tywin Lannister begins to take notice of his new cupbearer at Harrenhal.All characters in this story are fictional. None of it is real and the writer in no way encourages, supports or endorses relationships that could be considered inappropriate. Nobody is forcing you to read.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones, nor do I make money from this story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin's arrival at Harrenhall signals changes.

  
She and the others were huddled together in a large wooden pen in the courtyard. The stench of death and waste and urine was overpowering. They had just watched as Amory Lorch tortured and murdered a prisoner the day before, hoping to uncover information on the Brotherhood. They stood together, terrified that they would be next. They always chose a new person at the start of every new day. Before anyone could move there was a loud commotion at the gates, and suddenly a large group of people on horseback entered the keep of Harrenhal.

  
Surprised, they turned quickly to watch as the horsemen were joined by dozens of Lannister men-at-arms on foot, surrounding them. There at the front, mounted on a huge black destrier and towering over the others, in gold and steel-plated armor, decorated with glittering golden lions and a crimson velvet sash was Lord Tywin Lannister himself. There was no mistaking it. The Mighty Lion had arrived at Harrenhal.

  
The prisoners called out, pleading for mercy, for help as one of Lorch's henchmen stepped in front of the pen, intent on selecting another victim. He stopped in front of Gendry and moved to pull him forward when Arya quickly stepped in front of him, intent on protecting him from harm as she cursed loudly at the man, taking a swing at him. The guard growled in anger as one of her small fists connected, hitting him across the chest, though it did little to harm him it did serve to piss him off.

  
"That's it. I'll gut you for that, you little brat." He roared furiously as he drew a dagger from his belt and raised his hand only to have his wrist grabbed by the hand of Lord Tywin himself.

  
"Not this one, you won't. This one is a girl. Dressed as a boy. Why?" He asked turning to look at Arya, a curious expression on his face as he took a moment to consider her.

  
Clad in a dirty, torn tunic and breeches, her hair matted with mud and filth, she looked a sight, but her dark eyes blazed with a keen light as she found her tongue.  
"Safer to travel, my lord," she said, keeping her eyes low and her voice level, despite a slight waver.

  
Nodding almost imperceptibly, Lord Tywin turned to Amory Lorch. "You keep them here in pins. Why?" He asked.

Ser Amory paused and considered his words before looking at his lord and answering. "They're prisoners, my lord. To be executed, after interrogation."

  
Lord Tywin frowned, an angry expression on his face. "Executed? Do you think we're so well-manned that we can afford to turn away laborers?" He snapped angrily.

  
Turning to face Gendry, Lord Tywin asked, "You boy. Do you have a trade?"

Gendry froze, stammering a reply. "Smith, my lord. I am skilled at making armor and weapons," He mumbled, eyes down.

  
Lord Tywin turned sharply, now casting a glare at Ser Amory. "Get them cleaned up and put them to work. Except for the girl. She's to be my new page," He said, gazing at her with an expression that made Arya nervous.

  
With that, they were all split up and sent to bathe before being given a fresh set of garments from the Lannister stores and then put to work. Arya was separated from her friends and taken to a separate room where a pair of robust maids stripped her of her filthy breeches and tunic and dunked her headfirst into a large tub, and then proceeded to scrub the layers of grime from her skin. Arya struggled and fought, but strong hands held her down, pouring buckets of soapy water over her head. The water quickly turned brown as the mud and filth were washed from her dark hair and small, slender body.

  
After they finished, they pulled her out of the tub and dried her off. Next, they took a pair of shears to her hair, cutting it short before then handing her clean garments, they told her to dress quickly. She did so and was sent towards the largest tower in Harrenhal, where Lord Tywin had taken up residence. She was dressed in a rather plain grey woolen dress with the Lannister sigil sewn into the breast, linen smallclothes, a pair of rough fitting leather shoes shod on her feet. She entered the tower and climbed up the stairs towards the second level where she found Lord Tywin's solar, the entrance flanked by two Lannister guards who ushered her inside at their lord's command.

  
Inside, Tywin sat at a large wooden desk, pouring over the countless documents placed in front of him, his armor hanging on a rack nearby. He was dressed in rich black silk breeches, leather boots, a dark blue silk shirt with gold, lions head buttons, and a dagger hung at the belt at his waist. His blond hair was thinning, and his blue-green eyes focused on her as he looked up from his work. He pointed to the spot in front of his desk, and she walked forward, nervous and fearful, a lump forming in her throat as he specified her new duties.

  
She would serve his meals, clean his chambers, make the bed, run errands and polish his armor and tend to any other various needs he may have in the future. When she was not busy working for him, she would help in the kitchens. At night she would sleep on the floor in the corner of his chambers, ready to serve him the next morning.


	2. Good Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lion's interest is peaked.

“Girl.” The voice spoke.

 

Arya slept fitfully, tossing and turning on the hard stone floor with only a small, thin woolen blanket for comfort.

 

“Girl.”

 

There it was again. That high, cold voice. She scrunched her face but opened her eyes and sat up, straightening her gown before standing and crossing the room. Turning her head, she looked towards the narrow slits in the stone walls that served as windows. The sun had not risen yet and there were only the faintest hints of light in the sky, leaving the room illuminated only by the dying embers in the fire and the dim lighting of beeswax candles on the desk.

 

Scowling, she bit back an angry retort and crossed the room to kneel beside the desk where Lord Tywin sat working. He always retired late in the night and rose at an early hour every morning to begin the day anew. Prompt, hardworking and tireless. That was Lord Tywin. He seemed impervious to the need for sleep, often keeping her awake as well to wait upon him while he worked.

 

“Yes, milord.” She said, kneeling, her eyes downcast.

 

“Go to the kitchens and fetch me some wine,” He said, not even bothering to look at her.

 

“Yes, milord," She replied quietly. This was a normal request with him. He often drank watered down wine while working and would often send her to fetch it from the kitchens. Recently, one of his underlings had been killed in a mysterious accident and he had been on edge. Perhaps even fearful... She stood and backed out of the room, before turning and rushing off towards the kitchens. Exiting the tower where Tywin had taken up residence, she ran through the courtyard, skirts rumbling about her ankles and dashed towards the doors to the kitchen. At this time, only servants wandered the courtyard. Reaching the kitchens, she found the castle cook hard at work kneading dough and shouting instructions to the kitchen staff, cursing them when they lagged behind. She stopped in front of him and spoke softly.

 

“Lord Tywin sent me to fetch some wine,” she said looking around the kitchen. The cook paused in his work, looking at her for a moment before turning and shouting.

 

“Oi! You there, boy. Fetch a jug of wine and a cup for Lord Lannister. And be quick about it.” Weese shouted, looking at Hot Pie.

 

Arya wandered over to where Hot Pie stood, filling a glass pitcher full of wine from a large barrel before turning and handing it to her along with a chipped wooden mug. “Here you go, Arry,” he said looking down. Arya felt the lump form in her throat. She hadn’t spoken to Hot Pie since being exposed as a girl by Lord Tywin. She wasn’t sure how he would react to her deception.

 

“Hot Pie…,” she started, only to be interrupted by her friend.

 

“It’s alright, Arry. I understand. You don’t have to explain.” He said trying to reassure her. Arya looked at him, lost for words until they were loudly interrupted by the cook.

 

“Back to work, boy. And you girl, out of my kitchen or I’ll tan your hide,” he yelled, brandishing a large wooden spoon at her.

 

Arya ducked under his reach and rushed out of the door, clutching the wooden mug and pitcher of wine in her hands, careful not to spill any as she ran back towards the tower. Upon entering his solar, she paused in the doorway, waiting for Lord Tywin to look up and give her permission to approach. That was one of his rules. Servants stayed in the shadows until they were acknowledged by their betters. She had frowned when he informed her of that rule the first time she had slipped up.

 

“Come forward, girl.” He said, finally deigning to look at her.

 

She approached and bowed before pouring some wine into the mug and offering it to him. Lord Tywin paused, looking at her with a guarded expression. “Have you ever drank wine before, girl?” He spoke quietly. Before she could respond he spoke over her.

 

“Real wine I mean. I suppose you haven’t. This is Arbor gold. Brought from my personal stock in Casterly Rock. Take a sip. You’ll like it.” Lord Tywin spoke.

 

Arya hesitated, looking at him. “I shouldn’t, milord. It’s not my place.” She replied. She was scared, wondering what he was thinking.

 

“Its bad manners to refuse a lord’s courtesy, girl. Drink.” He said, a slight edge to his tone now.

 

Arya raised the cup to her lips and took a small sip, casting fearful eyes at him.

 

“Finish it.” He said his voice steel.

 

Arya tilted the cup back and quickly downed the contents, before looking at him. The wine was sweet yet potent and she hiccupped, a slightly glazed over look appearing in her eyes as she waited for him to speak. She recalled dimly that Hot Pie had not watered it down.

 

Lord Tywin was silent for a moment, looking at her. “Well, girl. What did you think of it?” He asked, voice quiet again.

 

Arya hiccupped again before quickly replying. “It’s very good, my lord. Sweet with a fruity aftertaste, but strong.” She said, unsure of what he expected her to say.

 

Lord Tywin considered her for a moment, and she looked at him, wondering what he was thinking. Suddenly he reached out, strong hands gripping her cheeks as he tugged her forwards, manicured fingers pulling at her eyelids, his blue-green eyes searching for something.

 

“Not a trace of red. Pour.” He said, sitting back in his chair.

 

Arya quickly obeyed and filled his mug, pausing as what he had said finally dawned on her. She struggled to control her temper as she realized he was using her like the proverbial canary in the coal mine, to test his wine for poison. She suppressed a glare and returned her gaze to the floor as Lord Twin drank his wine before setting the mug down on his desk and turning back to his work.

 

Arya stood to the side hiccupping, her eyes still slightly glazed as Lord Tywin worked, occasionally glancing over at her whenever she hiccupped, the noise starting to tick him off. He turned to her, an angry expression on his face.

 

“Stop that girl or I’ll cane your hide.” He said, focusing on his work again.

 

Arya’s mind was still a bit fuzzy. The strong wine was more than a match for her small frame. She blinked and shook her head, trying to focus, when a loud hiccup escaped her lips again. Panic-stricken, she froze, casting a fearful glance at the angry Lord Tywin as he stood, towering over her. He crossed the room and grabbed her by the neck, steering her roughly towards the desk as she struggled hopelessly in his grasp.

 

Tywin lifted her by her hips and dropped her on the large desk, his rough hands yanking her dress up around her waist exposing her slender hips as she tried to escape his grasp, serving only to anger him further. He yanked her smallclothes down around her knees, raising one hand and bringing it down hard over her upturned rear, causing her to yelp in pain.

 

As he smacked her Tywin found himself staring at her rear. He’d not been with a woman since his wife, Joanna had died nearly three decades before, and although she was still very young, he was more than aware that the child pinned to his desk would grow to become quite a beauty one day. He felt a stirring in his breeches that he tried to ignore as his hand paused, acting of its own accord, fingers caressing the firm cheeks, still red with the imprint of his large hand.

 

His breath caught in his throat. The feeling of her soft, warm skin stirring old memories, memories he had tried to put behind him. Long dormant urges, which he had spent years suppressing stirred within him, his fingers still teasing across her pale skin. He knew he shouldn't indulge himself, but his hand had a mind of its own.

 

Arya whimpered as he hit her, the force of his blows causing her rear to sting, bringing tears to her eyes as she struggled to keep from crying. She froze as his hand paused, fingers drifting downwards, brushing lightly against the soft lips of her slit, teasing them open as the pad of his thumb rubbed gently across the soft nub at the top of her slit, causing her to moan despite herself. She panicked, wondering what he was planning when suddenly the hand yanked away, and he barked an order.

 

“Dress yourself and go make my bed. When you’re finished you can go to the kitchen and fetch my breakfast.” He said in a harsh, choked voice.

 

With that, he pushed her roughly off of his desk and she stumbled to the floor, quickly pulling her smallclothes back into place and straightening her dress, before hurrying through the doorway connecting his solar to his bedchamber. Arya bustled about the room, quickly making the bed, ensuring the corners were neatly tucked and the pillows properly fluffed and arranged as her Septa had often lectured her, before hurrying down to the kitchens to fetch Lord Tywin's breakfast.

 

Entering the kitchens, she was overwhelmed by the smell of baking bread and fresh coffee brewing in a large metal tin over the fire. Walking up to the cook, she spoke quietly, still unnerved by earlier events.

  
“Yes. What is it, girl?” Weese snapped turning angry eyes on her.

 

“Lord Tywin wants his breakfast now,” Arya said, recovering a bit of her old bravado.

 

“Very well. Just a moment.” Weese said, grabbing a wooden tray from a nearby stack and bustling about the kitchen, leaving Arya to stand quietly by.

 

Arya returned to the tower a short time later carrying a tray of bacon, oatcakes, a couple of dried apples, cheese and a steaming mug of black coffee. She paused in the doorway until Lord Tywin looked up from his desk again and gave her permission to enter before quickly crossing the room and setting the tray on his desk, to the side.

 

As with the wine, he made her taste everything first. She glared at him as she did, still angry, but he ignored it as he picked at his food, his eyes drifting over to her more than once, causing her to swallow in fear, memories of her recent encounter with him still fresh in her mind.

 

Tywin sat at his desk, his mind racing. It had been a long time since he had lost control like that. Silently he began to curse himself for his weakness. He prided himself on not succumbing to base desires, but he couldn’t deny her tears and the fear in her eyes as he caned her had excited him. He enjoyed forcing her to submit as he had and the knowledge that she was powerless to resist him was incredibly arousing.

 

Tywin stopped eating and turned to face her, savoring the look of terror in her eyes as she watched him as though somehow sensing what was about to happen. He stood abruptly, and she began backing away from him despite herself, a terrified expression on her face which caused the bulge in his trousers to grow. He decided he wanted more. She was his servant; small and weak she couldn’t hope to fight him off. There was nothing to stop him.

 

He slowly walked towards her, savoring her fear as she trembled, backing up until she hit the hard-stone wall behind her, her terror-filled gaze fixed on the large bulge in his trousers, her gaze moving quickly up to his face, finding him smirking at her. An expression she couldn’t quite read in his eyes.

 

Tywin’s arms wrapped around her small frame, tossing her over his shoulder as she fought him, her small fists hitting his back as her short legs kicked out against his chest. He laughed cruelly, his free hand moving over her rear, fondling the firm cheeks and making her struggle even harder as he entered his bedchambers and dropped her on the large wooden bed.

 

Arya turned onto her hands and knees and tried to crawl away but he blocked her path, moving onto the bed and pinning her beneath him, his rough hands pulling at her skirts, dragging them up over her hips, her wide, terrified eyes gazing up at him. She stared up at him like a cornered rabbit as his hands tugged at her smallclothes, the soft linen tearing under his firm grip before raising the shredded fabric to his nose.

 

Breathing deeply, Tywin inhaled her scent, causing her to gulp as she watched him. He let out a sigh and his hands gripped the backs of her knees, pushing her short, scrawny legs up against her chest as he moved lower, only the top of his balding head visible as he nuzzled her soft, pale thighs, lips brushing against her slit guarded by a small patch of dark curls, tongue swiping out across the lips, eliciting a small startled whimper from the helpless girl. She tasted of fear and sweat and youth.

 

He nibbled softly on the backs of her thighs, his calloused fingers parting the soft lips as his tongue brushed against the soft nub at the top of her slit, making her gasp. Tywin sucked and nipped lightly at the rapidly swelling bud, his tongue teasing and tormenting it with gentle swipes causing Arya’s hips to buck as the confused and terrified girl’s head began to spin, unable to process these new sensations.

 

Tywin pushed his slick tongue inside Arya’s tight sheath, the velvet muscle thrusting, probing, teasing and tasting as Arya gasped and whimpered beneath him, her small body convulsing as her hands clutched desperately at anything she could find, vision blurry, unable to focus on anything but the balding head nestled between her short legs. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, all she could do was whimper and utter nonsensical words and noises that even she couldn’t understand.

 

Arya felt a knot tightening in her stomach, her small hands clutching desperately at Lord Tywin’s head pulling it tighter against her. She wasn't sure what was happening but she knew she needed something. Needed more. Suddenly the knot burst and the pleasure overwhelmed her small body, her vision went dark and her body limp. She awoke a short time later, sitting up in the bed, her eyes blinking, beginning to focus and she froze, seeing Lord Tywin on the bed beside her, his breeches around his ankles, his hand gripping his cock, stroking the huge pulsing organ as he panted.

 

Looking closer at his face, she noticed his eyes were shut tight and he had a strange, intense look on his face. His free hand clutched her shredded smallclothes to his nose. Her gaze moving down, she watched as suddenly he tensed, and his member swelled before her eyes, shooting spurt after spurt of white goo onto his hand. She stared, eyes glued to his member, amazed with her mouth hanging open.

 

She had seen boys peeing while traveling with Yoren, but this experience was entirely new for her. He stopped suddenly, seeing her staring and smirked, pushing two fingers, coated with his seed into her open mouth. Instinctively her mouth closed, and her small soft tongue darted out, licking the white salty goop off his fingers, a quiet purr escaping her as she considered his face. He withdrew his now clean fingers from her mouth and gently patted her head, causing a red tint to appear on her cheeks…

 

“Good girl.” He said, standing and walking away from her.

 

TBC

 

P.S. The lemon in this story isn’t meant to be about satisfying lust so much as Tywin establishing control. He feeds on Arya’s fear and the power that he has over her. He’s breaking down her will, forcing her to submit to him, to obey him without question. He is after all a lion and Arya is a small and helpless lamb forced to submit at first to survive, but later to please him in hopes of a small sign of affection.


	3. Her Virtue Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin's advances reach a new level.

It was late in the evening and Arya was almost finished tending to her duties. After she woke up that morning, she made Lord Tywin’s bed and cleaned the fireplace before heading out to fetch more firewood that a servant had cut the previous night. She paused to wipe the sweat from her brow as she climbed the stairs of the tower, entering Lord Tywin’s chambers and placing the wood into the fireplace.

Kneeling, Arya began striking steel and flint, setting a fire in the hearth. It was the middle of winter and the halls of Harrenhal were biting cold. She shivered and paused in front of the burning fire, rubbing her hands together as she took a moment to savor the warmth from the flames, allowing it to seep through her body before standing and returning to her duties.

Crossing the room, she washed her hands in the water basin on the table before emptying the water out the window. Placing the bin on the table she then ran to fetch a pitcher of fresh water to refill the basin. Lord Tywin liked to wash up and shave first thing each morning and he didn’t enjoy waiting for her to fetch the water, so she had to do it the night before. Breaking the layer of ice that had formed over the top of the water in the well with a small wooden mallet, she filled the pitcher and returned to the tower.

In the mornings while Lord Tywin was grooming, she would fetch his breakfast and as was usual he would make her taste it first, a duty which irked her though not as much as it used too. While he was eating, she would sit in the corner, polishing his armor until the metal glittered and shined. Afterward, she placed it on the rack and carried his breakfast dishes to the kitchen.

After breakfast he usually worked at his desk, sending her either to run errands or to work in the kitchens until noon when she would bring him his lunch and wait until he finished to clear away the dishes. Then it was back to the kitchens until supper. While he ate, she would tend to the fire and add coals to the stove under his bedcovers to keep the sheets warm. After she cleared away the dishes she returned to his chambers in the evenings, her chores for the day finally over.

“Or almost over,” she thought to herself as she knelt in front of Lord Tywin at the foot of his bed, his rough hands gripping her dark hair as he thrust himself in and out of her mouth. He grunted and moaned in time with his thrusts.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

It had been a struggle, but slowly he managed to allow himself these small indulgences once he finally let go and accepted that he still had needs. He tried to tell himself that he wasn't weakening. If he didn't indulge her every whim as his father had done with his own paramours then technically, he wasn't making the same mistakes. Right? Surely, he could make some small allowances for himself. He had been the epitome of strength and an iron will. But that didn't mean he wasn't a man like any other. This was alright, wasn't it? It certainly felt alright. It felt better than alright. It felt incredibly wonderful if he was honest with himself.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

“Such a good little cunt. Suck my cock, slut.” Lord Tywin said, his voice choked with pleasure.

“As though I have a choice in the matter.” She thought to herself as she hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard on his cock, her small tongue teasing the sensitive underside of his shaft while her small hands played with his balls. She had been fulfilling this duty long enough now to learn what he liked best.

Above her, Tywin moaned, and she smiled to herself. A good sign. When she did a good job, she sometimes got a reward. He would use her name. She loved hearing him call her Arry. It was close enough to Arya, though still not quite the same. It had been so long since anyone had used her real name. But even the use of her false name was a privilege she had to earn, which was no easy feat.

At first, she had been simply “girl.” Then when she pleasured him it was “cunt.” Finally, after two weeks of this routine, he had called her Arry, causing her to smile for the first time since she was taken to Harrenhal, a prisoner. He had only called her Arry twice, but the sound of her name on his lips was something she treasured and longed for.

It made her body tingle, bringing warmth to her cheeks, her stomach fluttered, and dampness formed between her legs. The power he had over her was staggering and she rejoiced at being completely under his control. After leaving Winterfell and traveling south to King's Landing in what seemed another life, her father had impressed upon her the need to be strong and courageous in order to survive. After watching her father die, she knew she had no choice but to be strong if she wanted to stay alive.

Now, however, these last few weeks being under Tywin's control, she felt like a burden had been lifted. Sure, he was the enemy. He was Cersei's father and Joffrey's grandfather. He was the person who was leading the war against her family. But he had taken away her need to be strong on her own. He had absolute authority over her, and he knew it. She had no say in how he treated her or what she was required to do daily, but he had also given her freedom from a life on the run, freedom from being pursued by her enemies or anyone who would do her harm. He saved her from torment and death at the hands of his men, from starvation and the cold and from the gods only knew what else. 

Sure, most people would say that not being able to have any free will of your own or the right to make decisions for yourself would be an absolute nightmare, but there were times when she found it strangely a relief. Her lord may not always be kind to her, but he provided her with shelter, food and a release from her fears. Finally, she felt as though she weren’t entirely alone in the word, allowing herself to hope that maybe her lord would care about her.

As she bobbed her head up and down along his shaft, she felt that all too familiar ache. She struggled with the urge to reach down and touch herself. She shuddered despite herself, remembering the first and last time she had been caught touching herself by Lord Tywin. It was a few nights after he had first forced himself on her. "No," she quickly reminded herself, "She mustn’t think that way. She loved and craved her lord’s touch. He could never force her."

That’s not to say it hadn’t been hard at first, but she had begun to long for it. For him. She had been so overwhelmed by the pleasures she had felt when he had his head down there, between her legs. Her body ached, that special secret part of her longing desperately to be touched.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Flashback

It was in the middle of the night and she was certain Lord Tywin was sleeping so she pushed her blanket aside and hiked her skirts up around her waist, her hand moving to rub gently against the soft mound covered by her smallclothes.

She slowly slid the linen garments down her hips, her small fingers teasing the soft lips before she brought them to her mouth, licking them as she had licked her lord’s fingers just a few days prior, she brought her slippery fingers back down, teasing apart the soft smooth lips, her fingertips searching for that spot at the top of her slit, finding and stroking the spot where all her pleasure-centered, she moaned and whimpered quietly, shutting her eyes and blocking out the world, everything but the pleasure she felt as she rolled the hard nubbin between her fingers.

It was absolute heaven. Unimaginable bliss. The idea that this part of her body could provide her with so much pleasure was a foreign concept to her until her recent encounter with Tywin Lannister. It was good, so, so good. Absolute ecstasy and the more she teased the nubbin the more her pleasure built. Dazed, she bit down on her bottom lip to stifle her cries as she grew closer to that wonderful feeling. "Just a little more," She thought to herself, a small whimper escaping her lips.

Suddenly a rough hand gripped her wrist, pulling her small hand away from her slit and she froze, terrified as she gazed up at the face of her lord. She had never seen anyone look so angry in her life. She trembled as he pulled her roughly to her feet and lead her towards his desk, his face an angry snarl. “So, you’re a little whore, are you?” he shouted at her, his nails digging into the skin of her wrist as he threw her over the wooden desk, her backside raised before him as he grabbed his belt and proceeded to use it to deliver blow after sharp stinging blow to her upturned cheeks and pale slender hips.

In utter agony, she cried as the belt landed against her skin, the force of his blows bringing tears to her eyes and leaving angry welts on her hips. Still, he continued to shout, deaf to her desperate pleas.

“Hands between your legs, toying with your little cunt like a slut in heat. Whore!” He shouted raising the belt again and bringing it down hard. She was sobbing now, no longer able to talk, praying it would end.

“How dare you presume to touch yourself without my permission. I decide when you get to experience pleasure, you little slut. I’m your lord and master,” he yelled, dropping the belt, an angry glare in his eyes as he looked at her, her tears causing his cock to harden, he smirked, grinning down at her.

“I’ll show you what happens to little sluts who disobey their masters.” He said as he unfastened his trousers, dropping them around his ankles as he pushed her to her knees at his feet, his rough hands grabbing fistfuls of her dark hair and yanking her head towards his cock, a sneer on his lips as she gazed up at him, eyes wide and terrified, tears streaking down her face.

Flashback Ends  
XxxxxxxxxxxX

That had been the first and last time she defied her lord. Suddenly, she was jerked back to the present, her lord pinching her nose, cutting off her air supply as she choked on his cock.

“Pay attention, cunt.” He said, voice stern. Her lord demanded her full and undivided attention when he was using her mouth for his pleasure. She cursed herself for becoming distracted, knowing he would not be pleased with her tonight. Suddenly he pushed her mouth off his cock, looking at her as he pointed to the bed beside him. “Get on the bed.” He ordered her, his voice stern and commanding.

She did so nervously, unsure of his intentions, a small fluttering sensation building in her stomach which gave her an odd thrill though she wasn’t sure why. Tywin pushed her back against the bed, his lips capturing hers, surprising her though she happily returned the kiss.

“My first kiss. And it’s from Tywin Lannister of all people.” Arya thought to herself as her toes curled, and her eyes closed, her face heating as his tongue pushed into her mouth, causing her to melt in his arms.

Tywin’s large, rough hands roamed her torso, his fingers pinching her nipples making her back arch, her chest pushing against his hands. Her chest was nearly flat as a board, little more than two raised bumps dotted by dark areola and two stiff pink nipples, but her lord didn’t seem to care, his tongue teasing hers, coaxing a moan from her lips as she hesitantly wrapped her arms around his shoulders, smiling when he didn’t get mad.

Tywin’s hands slid lower cupping her rear as he pulled back and looked at her. Arya’s face was flushed as she smiled at him. He pulled back the bedcovers and lay her down on the soft linen sheets before joining her. With a grin at her, he quickly covered them both with the heavy furs, taking her in his arms as she looked shyly at him, a blush covering her cheeks. He held her close, his lips forming a rare smile, just for her, as he placed her small hands on his hard cock and whispered quiet encouragement.

Tentatively, she stroked the shaft, her face nuzzling against the blond hair covering her lord’s chest. He moved over her, his hands pushing apart her slender thighs as she looked up at him, curious as to what he was doing. Still, she did her best to hide her fears as he stroked himself against her slit, the tip of his cock pressing against her entrance.

She felt pressure down there and grimaced in discomfort, her body slowly opening, and his head slipped inside her. She stiffened, feeling full as he pushed deeper into her, oblivious to her discomfort which she tried to hide. It wasn’t her place to question her lord, merely to serve him.

Tywin’s rough hands gripped her small hips as he paused, the tip of his cock pressed against her maidenhead. He paused to let her adjust as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her against his chest as his hips thrust forward, stealing her virtue as she cried out, tears forming in her eyes. In a rare display of tenderness that surprised even him, Tywin held her in his arms, brushing away her tears as she sniffled into his shoulder.

Slowly, the pain faded, and she began to relax in his arms, her hands settling on his shoulders as he rolled them over, so she was on top. Arya looked up into his eyes as she straddled his lap, her short legs splayed against his hips. His hands guided her hips, moving her up and down on his hard cock as he leaned back against the pillows, his left hand reaching down to stroke her clit, making her moan as his hips thrust upwards, his cock thrusting in and out of her.

Slowly she began to enjoy it, little whimpers and moans escaping her lips as his right hand smacked her rear. She grinned, leaning in and kissing his lips as she rode him. Tywin was in heaven, his mind a hazy fog of pleasure. It had been far too long since he’d had a lover. He pushed Arya off his lap, causing her to look at him worriedly before he smacked her rear, pushing her onto her hands and knees on the bed as he moved behind her, pressing the head of his cock between her soft, wet folds and quickly buried himself back inside her to the hilt in one long, slow thrust.

Growling her name, he gripped her, one hand on her shoulder and the other at her waist, his hips smacking hard against her as he thrust into her fast and hard, reaching under her to stroke her clit, his breathing getting heavier, his nails digging into her flesh as his cock twitched, swelling inside her. Suddenly he stiffened flooding her with his seed.

Tywin pulled out of her with a soft plop sound and collapsed, laying back against the pillows, panting as he began to recover his breath, Arya curling up against his chest, a smile on her face as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders…

TBC


	4. Love Blossoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin receives a visitor from King's Landing and later makes a startling confession.

Arya woke up to a shuffling sound and blinked, her eyes gradually adjusting to the light from the burning braziers along the wall. She sat up and looked around, confused. The sun had not yet risen, the sky outside was still dark, with only faint traces of light in the sky. “It must be very early,” She realized. Memories of last night slowly drifted into her sleep fogged mind and she realized suddenly that she was in her lord’s chambers, lying under the heavy furs in his bed.

Next to the bed Lord Tywin stood, pulling on a pair of trousers, his back towards her. She yawned quietly and stretched, wincing slightly as soreness in her hips brought back fresh memories of her lord’s vigorous embrace. She blushed crimson and looked at her lord, standing with his back to her as he buttoned up his shirt before sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots.

Remembering herself, she stood from the bed, moving as quickly as the soreness in her hips would allow and knelt at his feet, lacing up his boots for him, her eyes down as he paused, gazing at her nude form. When she finished, he stood up and looking around he saw the small red blotch on the white linen sheets on his bed, a pleased smirk appearing on his face. 

He cupped her chin and she beamed happily as she looked up at him, his thumb teasing across her soft pink lips, her tongue darting out against the rough digit. Lord Tywin removed his hand as he walked across the room towards the rack where his armor lay and called her over to him. 

“I’ll go to the training grounds today,” he said and with his guidance she helped him don his armor, fastening the straps to hold it in place before running to fetch his sword belt, kneeling as she offered it to him, a grin on her face. 

Tywin took the sword belt and fastened it around his waist, flexing his arms before walking from his bedchambers. “Go wash and dress quickly, girl. Then straighten up my chambers. After that go to the commissariat and fetch more candles for my chambers and fresh linens for the bed. When you’ve finished with that you can go to the kitchens and fetch hot water for my tub. I’ll want a bath after my sparring session. Get one of the other servants to help you. I don’t want you spilling my bath water all over the tower floor.” Tywin said without looking at her as he exited his solar and left the tower.

Arya quickly walked over to the washbasin, wincing as the ache in her hips protested. Gingerly she picked up a rag next to the basin and washed her face and hands before looking down. Her legs were sticky, her pale thighs coated in traces of her blood and her lord’s seed. She was young, but she was smart enough to know that her lord had taken her maidenhead last night, and what that meant for her future prospects. She didn’t care though. She had spent the evening in her Lord's arms. She felt her cheeks heating, the idea of serving her beloved lord in that way strangely appealing. 

Arya finished washing and quickly dressed, pulling on her small clothes and dress before stepping into her shoes and hurrying about the room. She hummed softly to herself, an old Northern folksong she had learned as a child at Winterfell while bustling about, clearing up some of the clutter in her lord’s chambers. With his chambers now straightened, she set about stripping the soiled linens from the bed and setting them aside, pausing and chewing her lip softly as she noticed the red stain on the linens. 

Bundling the linens up under one arm, she wiped her brow before leaving the tower and taking the linens to the castle laundresses. Dropping the linens off and ignoring the inquiring glance the laundress sent her way, Arya rushed off to the commissariat to retrieve the candles and fresh linens for Tywin’s bed.

By the time she reached the commissariat the sun had begun to rise. She stood in the supply office waiting for the surly clerk in charge of the supplies to finish with the person ahead of her. Finally, when it was her turn, she stopped in front of the counter. 

“What do you want, girl?” The clerk asked looking at her as though she were something unpleasant, he had just scraped from the bottom of his boots.

“Lord Tywin sent me to fetch fresh linens for his bed and candles for his chambers,” she said, ignoring his glare. 

At the mention of Lord Tywin Lannister, the unpleasant clerk quickly straightened up and hurried to fill the order, unwilling to risk Tywin Lannister’s wrath. He quickly returned with an arm of fresh linens for the bed and three beeswax candles which he handed to her. Arya took them and quickly left, heading back to the tower to make the bed and place the candles on Lord Tywin’s desk for his later use. aFinally finished with that she hurried out of the tower, running towards the kitchens. The cook was shouting and cursing at one of the servants when she walked in. She cautiously approached him and waited. Finally, he looked at her, red in the face from yelling and brandishing a rolling pin. 

“Well, girl. What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?” he barked at her. 

Arya swallowed but stood her ground. “Lord Tywin sent me to fetch hot water for his bath.” She said, looking him in the eye. 

“Oh, very well then.” He said turning. 

“Hot Pie help the girl fetch water from the well in the courtyard and then bring it back here and put it onto the fire to boil. And be quick about it. There’s more work to be done.” He said turning back to face Arya before continuing. “And you girl, if you want to keep those teeth you won’t suck them at me,” he said glaring at her as he went back to his work.

Hot Pie and Arya carried two large metal bins to the well in the courtyard and filled them with the buckets before hauling them back to the kitchen and putting them on the fire to boil. When they were finished, they carried the water to the tower and filled the large tub in the corner of Lord Tywin’s bathroom.

“Thanks for helping me, Hot Pie,” Arya said smiling at her friend.

“No problem, Arry.” He replied as they picked up the empty metal tins.

After helping carry the metal bins back to the kitchen, Hot pie returned to work and Arya, now free for the moment, walked toward the training grounds. She stopped in the corner, frozen in shock and fear as she saw her lord facing off against the Mountain of all people. 

She was terrified for him, but as she watched she saw him easily dodging the Mountain’s blows, dancing around the giant as though toying with him. He blocked and parried the Mountain’s blows, displaying surprising skill and strength for a man of his age. She was awestruck, watching as he landed blow after blow against the exposed joints in Clegane’s armor. The Mountain was huge and strong, but his heavy armor weighed him down, making him slow and clumsy.

“Are you going soft, Clegane?” Tywin asked as he danced to the side, sweeping the Mountain’s legs out from under him in a sudden move. The Mountain tumbled to the ground with a loud thud and before he could move Tywin stood over him, holding his sword to the Mountain’s throat. The Mountain dropped his sword with a loud clang and raised his hands in defeat. Arya cheered along with a group of Lannister men-at-arms and servants who had gathered around to watch. Lord Tywin stood back as Ser Gregor climbed clumsily to his feet. 

Looking around at the crowd, he scowled at them angrily. “Don’t you people have work to do?” he said in a harsh tone.

Quickly they scattered, leaving to return to their duties. Tywin left the field, sheathing his sword as he walked past Arya in the direction of the tower. “Follow,” he said without looking at her and she turned, running to keep up with his brisk pace as they entered the tower together. 

Looking around his chambers he nodded satisfied but said nothing and stopped in front of her. Taking the hint, Arya quickly moved forward and began to help him remove his armor. When the last of his armor was removed he walked toward his bathing chamber and she followed, kneeling and quickly unlacing his boots as he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it to the floor before unfastening his breeches. When she finished, he kicked off his boots and stepped out of his breeches, sliding them off along with his small clothes before settling into the tub. 

Tywin sighed leaning back against the side of the large round tub and relaxing in the hot water before sparing her a glance from the corner of his eyes. “Fetch that bottle of shampoo, girl.” He said as he dunked his head under the water before reemerging, water cascading down off his shoulders. 

Arya walked forward, holding a glass bottle. She poured some onto her hands and began lathering the shampoo into his hair as he sighed, eyes closed and tilting his head back. When she finished lathering his hair she poured a bucket of hot water from the tub over his head, rinsing out the suds. He looked at her, his eyes roving over her before reaching over and tugging lightly at her gown. “Get rid of that, girl. Then join me in here,” he said. 

Arya nodded, a blush creeping across her face as she quickly removed her clothing and joined her lord in the tub. He pulled her against him and she settled in his lap, giggling as his cock twitched and hardened against her rear. He lathered a cloth with soap and began scrubbing her back and shoulders while she wiggled and squirmed in his lap. He set the cloth down and lifted her up onto the edge of the tub before picking up the cloth again and scrubbing her short scrawny legs and hips as she laughed. 

He placed his hands on her knees, pushing her legs open as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against her soft, pale thighs and she froze, watching him with anticipation but to her disappointment he pulled away and handed her the cloth and told her to finish while he started scrubbing himself with another cloth. Arya bit her lip, but finished her bath and sat, watching her lord.

Tywin stood, climbing from the bath and dried off as she did the same, quickly redressing before following him into his bedchamber. He moved about quickly, pulling a clean tunic and pair of breeches from his wardrobe he quickly put them on before heading to his solar and taking a seat at his desk. His stomach rumbled loudly, and he decided now would be as good a time as any for breakfast. He turned to Arya about to speak when a loud knock sounded on the door of his solar.

“Enter,” he called. The door opened, and a Lannister soldier entered, bowing low.

“Yes, what is it?” Tywin asked. 

“A messenger from King’s Landing, my lord.” Came the reply. 

“A messenger? Who is it?” Tywin asked, his stomach rumbling once again.

The soldier quickly stood to attention and faced his lord. “Petyr Baelish, my lord.” He said.

Tywin gave a weary sigh, and nodded to the soldier, oblivious to Arya’s sudden nervous fidgeting. “Send him in right away,” Tywin replied.

The soldier left, and Tywin turned to look at Arya. “Go fetch a jug of wine and two glasses.” Arya quickly obeyed, keeping her face down as she moved about the solar. 

Petyr Baelish calmly entered the solar, dressed in expensive maroon and grey velvet robes, tooled leather boots clicking on the rough stone floor as he walked, his familiar falsely sweet smile and oily beard ever present, and at an invitation from Lord Tywin quickly sat in a chair in front of the desk. As they talked, discussing the war and the ever-worsening conditions in King’s Landing Arya placed Lord Tywin’s wine on the table and turned, her face down, quietly offering a glass to Lord Baelish who took it, sparing her the very briefest of glances. Arya eagerly moved to the corner after he took the cup, anxious to avoid being seen.

“My lord, as I am sure you are already aware, Renly Baratheon is dead. Rumors fly as to the cause, but the Storm lords are now flocking to his brother Stannis and King’s Landing is in dire peril. The Crown needs allies and I may be able to help.” He said leaning back in his chair. 

Tywin considered the man for a moment, taking a sip of his wine. “Is that so? And how can you help?” he asked.

Petyr leaned forward and flashed Tywin one of his signature smug grins, and after taking a sip of his wine replied, “By bringing the Reach into the fold. There is no love between Mace Tyrell and Stannis Baratheon due to the siege of Storm’s end that took place during Robert Baratheon’s rebellion. With your permission, of course, I will travel to the Reach and secure a betrothal arrangement between Lord Tyrell’s daughter Margaery and His Grace, which would surely secure the full might of the Reach for the Crown’s endeavors.” Petyr finished once again reclining in his chair.

Tywin turned, looking at Arya. “Run down to the kitchens, girl, and fetch my breakfast. Get yourself something too. We may be quite a while so take your time. Lord Baelish and I have a few more things to discuss first, without servants listening in.” He said quietly.

Arya jumped at the excuse and left the solar as discreetly as she could, eager to avoid Lord Baelish’s gaze. Running down the steps, she quickly fled the tower and hurried across the courtyard to the kitchens. Upon entering she slipped past the cook and grabbed a fresh bun off a tray, quickly scarfing down the morsel as she tried to avoid the attention of Weese, the cook. She was starving, having not eaten since last night.

Standing in the corner, she looked around and spotted her friend. She wandered over to Hot Pie who was passing out oatcakes and steaming mugs of coffee to a group of Lannister soldiers who had just returned from patrols.

“Hello, Hot Pie. Doing alright?” She asked, causing him to jump. She sighed and shook her head. He startled so easily, but she supposed it came from working under the likes of a man like Weese all day. 

“I’m fine, I suppose but I can’t really talk. If Weese catches us, he’ll cane us both.” He said, looking over his shoulder and casting Weese a fearful glance.

Arya nodded and left the kitchens, wandering through the courtyard. As she wandered around, Arya saw Petyr Baelish leaving the tower and quickly ducked out of sight, watching as he mounted his horse, and followed by his retinue, rode through the gates leaving Harrenhal behind. Arya sighed in relief and ran to the kitchens to fetch Lord Tywin’s breakfast now that his meeting was over.

Arya returned to the tower carrying a tray with Lord Tywin’s breakfast. Pausing at the doorway she waited for her lord to notice her. Tywin looked up from his desk at her and motioned her forward. Quickly she crossed the room, placing his breakfast on the desk in front of him. As Tywin began eating, Arya cast furtive glances at him, her feet shuffling nervously.

“Don’t worry, girl. He didn’t recognize you.” Tywin said absently, not bothering to look at her as he ate a piece of bacon. Arya froze, looking nervously at him as Tywin continued eating.

“P... pardon, m... milord?” she stammered as she gazed at him, terrified.

Sighing, Tywin set his coffee down and turned to look at her. “I’ve met enough Starks in my lifetime to recognize another when I see one,” Tywin said meeting her gaze.

Arya gulped nodding. “I’m Arya, Arya Stark, my lord. Lord Eddard Stark is my father.” She said.

Tywin nodded, already guessing as much as he looked at her, motioning her forward. Arya stepped forward nervously, wondering what he was planning to do with her now. Tywin cupped her chin in his hand, tilting her head up to look into her eyes. Arya gulped, eyes misting with tears as she trembled. Tywin softly kissed her brow and she broke down, rushing into his arms which wrapped around her shoulders. Arya nuzzled his chest and he patted her shoulder.

“It’s alright, girl. No more tears,” he said as he stood, picking her up and carrying her to his bedchambers.

Tywin crossed the threshold and dropped her onto the soft furs before pushing her onto her back on the bed, her head resting against the pillows as she stared up at him. Tywin joined her on the bed, moving over the top of her. She squeaked, brightening up as his rough hands pushed her skirts up around her waist before tugging her smallclothes down around her knees. Arya lay there, staring meekly up at him, nervous as he examined her nude form. Self-consciously, her small hands moved, shielding her chest and pussy from his view as she bit her lip. 

Shaking his head, Tywin quickly tugged her hands aside, his gaze roving across her small form. “Beautiful.” He whispered, more to himself than to her as he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it aside before doing the same with his boots. His hands unfastened his breeches, pushing them down along with his smallclothes, his huge cock springing forth. His cock was hard as steel, the shaft angry and pulsing with dark purple veins, the tip leaking precum. His rough hands settled on her ankles, pushing her legs up over her chest causing her to squeak, her small feet settled near her head, leaving her entirely at his mercy.

“You’re not going to send me away then, my lord?” she asked, a frightened look in her eyes. Tywin’s half-lidded eyes settled on her and she grimaced slightly in discomfort as he roughly sheathed himself inside her, his hands fondling and smacking her rear. 

“No, girl. I have no intention of tossing away such a useful hostage,” he said as his hips rocked, thrusting roughly into her, his hips smacking against her pale skin. 

Arya bit her lip, tears misting in her eyes as her Lord took his pleasure from her body. “So, I’m just his hostage then. He doesn’t care that I love him.” She thought to herself miserably, her heart shattering in her chest.

Above her Tywin stiffened as he spent himself inside her before moving onto the bed beside her, his arms pulling her against him as his eyes slowly drifted closed. Exhausted from a morning of sparring with the Mountain, meetings and fucking the young girl next to him he quickly succumbed to sleep. Arya lay there, silently crying as her lord’s seed dripped down her thighs.

“He doesn’t care about me at all. He’s so cruel. Does he even know how to love?” She thought to herself. 

Next to her Tywin was sleeping comfortably with his face buried against the pillows, when suddenly his arms wrapped around her and he hugged her tightly against his chest. 

“Arry.” He mumbled, the pillow muffling his words. Stiffening, she struggled to catch what he was saying.

“Arry. My precious little wolf girl. All mine, forever.” He mumbled again. 

Arya froze, her breath catching in her throat, a smile crossing her face.


	5. Battle For King's Landing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin fights to save King's Landing from Stannis Baratheon.

Arya moaned softly, the bed creaking beneath her as her small body shook. Behind her, her lord gripped her small hips, his eyes shut tight as he roughly thrust himself in and out of her. It had been more than a month since her lord had confessed his feelings for her in his sleep and he had begun treating her differently than he had before.

He was kinder, more affectionate when he was alone with her. Often holding and kissing her, whispering sweet words in her ear, stroking her cheek and so on. Indeed, his whole general outlook on the world had altered to a point. Granted, in public or when others were nearby, he was still the stern, cold and indifferent lord she remembered, but with her, he was only her beloved lord. Snapping out of her thoughts, she bit her lip, wincing slightly as her Lord took her hard. Tywin Lannister could never be called a gentle man, but she loved him regardless.

That morning while her lord had been training in the practice grounds a raven arrived bearing news from the Crown’s spies. After reading it, her lord informed her of its contents, stating that the Iron Islanders had invaded the North and had begun attacking villages along the coast. Worse still was the news that Theon Greyjoy, her brother's best friend had turned traitor and captured Winterfell. Her younger brothers were now prisoners in their own home. Anger burned through her at the news and she had vowed revenge on the traitor Theon Greyjoy. His name now added to the long list she whispered before sleeping.

Behind her, her lord stiffened spending himself inside her. She smiled to herself as he moved to lay beside her on the bed, the warmth of his seed coating her thighs. She moved to lay against his side, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his fingers toying with a stray lock of her dark hair which had begun to grow longer, once again. Happily, she allowed herself to enjoy his embrace. They lay together, cuddling for a while before he sat up, dressing and heading to his solar. 

Arya pulled her smallclothes on and fixed her gown before walking over to stand at the edge of the room, watching him as he worked silently at his desk. Examining and signing documents, he seemed entirely at peace at this moment and she wondered if it had anything to do with her and their relationship.

In recent weeks, the River lords had suffered countless defeats at the hands of the determined Lannister forces under the command of Ser Devan Lannister and Ser Gregor Clegane. They had captured several holdfasts and villages including Raventree, Wendish Town and Seagaurd. Only Riverrun and the Twins remained the last great fortresses in the Riverlands to hold out. The bulk of the Northern forces under the command of Roose Bolton had retreated, heading North to drive out the Iron Islanders, leaving the remaining Northern troops under the command of Robb Stark along with the River lords to oppose the onslaught of Lannister troops. Meanwhile, reports stated that Stannis Baratheon was putting together a fleet to attack King's Landing. 

A knock at the door sounded and Lord Tywin looked up. "Enter." He called. 

A man entered, dressed in Lannister red, a golden lion stitched into the upper right corner of his crimson wool tunic. Stafford Lannister bowed before him, looking up and offered a sealed letter which Tywin took. He broke the wax seal and unrolled the scroll reading carefully. The letter was written in the neat script of his daughter, Cersei. Wondering what it could be he began reading.

“The Reach has agreed to the betrothal of Margaery Tyrell to my son. Lord Mace Tyrell is amassing his forces, and our spies state that Stannis’s fleet is nearly assembled. We’re told he has more than one hundred thousand men and he’ll be ready to assault King’s Landing in a weeks’ time. Plans have been made to defend the city, but due to unfortunate circumstances, we are unable to withstand a prolonged siege. You must move south to our aid. Bring your forces to the capital and defend the Crown lands.  
Cersei of House Lannister. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Tywin sighed and set the letter down before turning to face the messenger. “Go and fetch Ser Amory Lorch.” He said.

At once, Stafford Lannister bowed and turned, leaving the chamber. 

Tywin ran a hand through his thinning hair and shook his head, wondering once again how this whole mess had started. Inwardly, he cursed Joffrey for cutting off Ned Stark’s head and Cersei for letting him. The boy would need to be reined in properly, judging by the stories he’d heard from his sources at court. “I’m getting too old for this,” He thought to himself. 

Shortly, Ser Amory Lorch knocked at the door and entered the solar, bowing low. “You summoned me, my lord.” He spoke quietly.

Tywin looked at the man, considering him for a moment. “I’m traveling south with the army to King’s Landing. I’m leaving you here in command of Harrenhal with 2,000 men. You’re to remain here at Harrenhal and maintain the Crown’s control of the Riverlands at all costs. Do not take any unnecessary risks. Do you understand?” He asked, gazing sternly at the other man.

Ser Amory Lorch stood up straight and nodded. “Yes, my lord. I’ll hold the castle and the Riverlands as you command.” He replied.

With that Tywin waved his hand and Ser Amory Lorch left. Tywin turned to face Arya who bowed, awaiting his orders. “Begin packing my things. We leave for King’s landing tomorrow.” He stated looking to her.  
XxxxxxxxxxxX

The next day with the first rays of sunlight shining in the morning sky, the huge column of Lannister soldiers set out, riding through the gates of Harrenhal. Lord Tywin sat mounted on the back of his huge black destrier, riding at the head of the column. The line stretched for over three miles as the column of eighteen thousand Lannister troops journeyed through the countryside, heading south along the King’s Road towards the capital. 

Above them, birds flew overhead, and the sun slowly rose behind the clouds. Tywin took a sip from his waterskin and stowed it back at his side, eating a dried apple as he rode. He had insisted on setting out at first light and so the men ate as they marched. Looking around he determined that it would be a long journey to King’s Landing, even if they marched from morning to sundown each day with only occasional breaks to rest.

After eight hours of hard marching, they had passed the Isle of Faces and were moving steadily south along the King’s Road. They had stopped twice to rest, once every four hours, the men exhausted and unable to go on they spent an hour each break recovering their strength and dining on their rations. Tywin shifted in his saddle, looking to his left. Riding on a palfrey a short distance away, dressed in Lannister livery was Arya. 

He watched her as she looked around excitedly at the surroundings. Clearly, she had never traveled with an army before and appeared to be fascinated by all that took place around her. She had been worried at first that she would be left behind but Tywin reassured her, refusing to leave her behind at Harrenhal, insisting she was too valuable a hostage to trust to the care of Amory Lorch. He had revealed to a select few trusted officers that she was, in fact, Arya Stark of Winterfell. 

They had spent the last five days traveling along the King’s Road and it was nearly sundown. They were deep inside the Crownlands now and the army had made camp at Rosby. Lord Rosby had laid out a small feast to welcome them. Outside the castle, the common soldiers sat around lean-tos and cook fires, dining on meat and mead provided by Lord Rosby. They laughed and drank, flirting with camp followers as the sun set while inside the castle Lord Tywin and his officers sat around tables in the Great Hall, listening to musicians playing while they feasted and drank.

Tywin sighed, never one for celebrating or overindulging in wine, but it had been a long march and his officers and soldiers were tired and needed to rest. Still, he ordered the mead the soldiers drank be watered down so as not to affect them too harshly the next morning. Beside him to the right, Arya sat eating quietly as she looked around the hall, clearly uncomfortable. Recalling that Northerners weren’t fond of indulging in elaborate feats and music he sympathized with her. Reaching over, he gripped her hand under the table and spared her a brief and reassuring glance, making her smile up at him, before turning back to face the hall.

Earlier that day their scouts had informed them Lord Mace Tyrell was on the march and would meet up with them the following day. Suddenly, there was a commotion as the doors to the dining hall opened and a balding Maester rushed in running straight for the head table. He bowed and faced Lord Tywin. 

“My lord, Stannis Baratheon’s fleet is sailing from Dragonstone and his infantry are laying siege to King’s landing as we speak. The situation is urgent.” He stated breathless and panting.

Tywin swore silently and faced his gathered officers. “Order the men to pack up camp. We march in one hour.” He barked.

With that there was a rush as officers dashed out of the castle, issuing orders to their men. Tywin stood, leaving the hall and headed towards the chambers set aside for him to change into his armor. Arya eagerly helped him into his armor, grinning excitedly. 

“Will we be meeting up with Lord Tyrell’s forces on the way there, or will they meet us at King’s Landing?” Arya asked animatedly.

Tywin strapped his sword belt on, before turning to look at her. “We? You’re staying here. The battlefield is no place for children. Especially girls.” He replied.

Arya frowned, staring up at him angry. “But I can fight. I’ve been practicing. My father even hired a water dancing master from Braavos for me.” Arya stubbornly protested. 

Tywin shook his head, eyes stern as he gazed at her. “Practicing is not the same as doing. This battle is going to be fierce. Stannis Baratheon is a skilled commander and I can’t be sure of the outcome. I won’t place you at risk. I lov…care to much about you to risk losing you.” He said, looking down at her.

Arya glared up at him, her dark eyes flashing in a rage. “I’m not your whore, Tywin. I’ll be your equal or nothing. I may be a girl, but I demand equal treatment and respect for my ideas.” She harshly replied.

Startled by the hostility in her tone, Tywin towered above her, eerily calm and she feared she had pushed him too far but finally his shoulders slumped, and he conceded defeat. “Fine. You can come along but you’ll remain on the sidelines of the battle with the squires and the reserve troops under the command of my cousin Stafford Lannister. You’re not to do anything stupid, and if the battle goes ill for us, you’ll retreat to Rosby and he’ll arrange your passage to Casterly Rock. Understood?” He asked facing her.

“Yes, my lord.” She replied feeling relieved.

“Good. Now let’s get moving.” He said with a nod. 

With that, they headed back down the hall and out into the courtyard of the keep where the horses were saddled and waiting. Tywin helped Arya mount up before climbing into his own saddle and they set out, Tywin supervising the officers who were busily mobilizing the army. 

After a lot of shouting as soldiers hurried this way and that the Lannister army was ready to march and they set out, back along the King’s Road. Tywin set a forced march once again and they traveled through the night along the King’s road making for the juncture where they would meet up with the Tyrell host. Tywin shifted in his saddle and flexed his arms, his stiff muscles protesting. It was times like this that he began to feel his age. 

They had been on the march for over two hours and finally, the Tyrell host was in sight. They were just a few miles from King’s landing now Tywin noted as he pulled on his horse’s reins and came to a stop as Lord Mace Tyrell rode up to greet him. Beside him was a young man mounted on a chestnut charger wearing green and gold armor with an antlered helm. 

“Good evening, my lord. We have been waiting for you. Shall we get going?” Lord Tyrell said an oafish grin on his face.

Tywin’s face set in a grim line as he looked over the pair. Mace Tyrell noticed his gaze and turned. 

“Oh. This is Garlan, my son, and heir.” He said, placing a hand on Garlan’s shoulder. 

Garlan bowed his head. “An honor to meet you, my lord.” He said in a polite tone.

Tywin nodded his head, offering a polite reply and steered his horse forward. They rode forth, the combined army following behind. Further back, near the rear of the column, Arya rode alongside Stafford Lannister, chatting excitedly with the man, who despite his best efforts to ignore her found himself answering most if not all her questions.

Tywin rode in silence, a frown marring his features as beside him Mace Tyrell rambled on about this and that. It seemed the man never shut up. Tywin was beginning to reach the limits of his patience with the dull-witted man, his grip tightening on his reins when the sound of shouting was heard, and the enemy appeared through a break in the tree line ahead of them. 

Tywin drew his sword, shouting orders as the Lannister-Tyrell host burst through the tree line, surprising the enemy. With a final command, they charged into the clearing and Tywin steered his horse forward, riding straight into the enemy ranks, his sword arm swinging, cutting down enemy after enemy as all around him soldiers screamed and shouted, the clang of steel on steel ringing as soldiers traded blows, swords striking armor and shields, the occasional cry of pain as a blow found purchase, the soldier falling.

Around them, arrows whizzed by sinking into the flesh of the men running to and fro. Tywin swore as his horse was struck by an arrow that bounced off the steel chainmail covering its flank. It frightened the beast, however, causing It to rear back, but he managed to hold on, struggling to bring the beast under control. Behind him amongst the tree line, Lannister archers fired volley after volley into the enemy ranks, far ahead of him, cutting down the Baratheon infantry as they regrouped further ahead. 

All around him, Tywin saw his forces fighting off against groups of the Baratheon infantry, slowly gaining the edge as Stannis’s troops were pushed back bit by bit towards the city walls, the archers on the battlements above, firing down on them from behind. Suddenly a horn sounded, and Tywin looked up, his eyes zeroing in on the sound. A short distance ahead deep within the enemy lines, illuminated by the light of torches and bonfires, a huge banner was waving, a fiery heart emblazoned on the golden fabric as a figure on a huge white destrier appeared, shouting orders to his men.

Stannis Baratheon had finally shown himself. Tywin looked around him and rallied his men. “To me. To me.” He shouted as his men regrouped around him. The Tyrell cavalry had rallied and was turning around for a second charge into the center of the enemy ranks, following the figure in green and gold armor who cut down foe after foe, his sword swinging this way and that. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Tywin grabbed one of his nearby lieutenants by the shoulder.

“Give the order for the men to rally. We need to organize and prepare for another onslaught.” He shouted, to be heard above the din.

Nodding that he understood, the lieutenant turned, blowing a loud blast on a horn at his waist and issued orders for the Lannister forces to fall back for a breather. Once they had sufficiently recovered and were organized into a spearhead formation, Tywin gave the order and they once again prepared to charge into battle as the Tyrell cavalry took their cue to retire, falling back to the sidelines once again. 

Looking over his shoulder, Tywin called to the archers. “Give them a volley. Aim for the large clusters of enemy troops. Make them panic and scatter. Fire!” He shouted, charging forward, his men following him as they crashed into the enemy formation. 

The Baratheon forces were beginning to panic, exhausted from the repeated onslaughts and fleeing the field as Stannis worked to maintain order among his ranks. Spotting him on the field Tywin urged his horse forward when suddenly a nearby Baratheon officer swung his sword, cutting the beast’s legs out from under it. The huge destrier collapsed beneath him screaming loudly and writhing in agony as it died. Tywin roughly climbed out of the saddle and standing quickly he slashed out with his sword, the unlucky officer’s head rolling from his shoulders as his body hit the ground in a heap. 

Around him, the battle raged fiercely, and Tywin cut down enemy soldiers left and right, looking around as he searched for Stannis. Suddenly to the right rushing towards him on foot, his steel plate armor glinting dully in the firelight and spattered with blood, his sword aglow was Stannis Baratheon. Tywin turned to face him as he charged, sword held high. He raised his sword as Stannis swung, the blades striking hard as Tywin parried his attack.

In that first blow, Tywin felt his sword arm jar, the force of Stannis’s blow nearly making his arm go numb. Tywin ground his teeth and tried to stay calm. “This would not be an easy fight.” He thought to himself.

They traded blows, swords clanging, and Tywin braced himself, sweat dripping into his eyes as he fought off Stannis’s attacks. “That glowing sword of his gives him such unnatural strength.” He noted as Stannis kicked Tywin’s feet out from under him and Tywin stumbled, falling to his knees, his sword raised as above him, Stannis sneered, face set in a grim line. “Now you die,” he said as he knocked Tywin’s sword aside with a mailed fist and raised his sword to strike.

Tywin was certain this was the end when Stannis suddenly froze, his sword raised above his head before collapsing, in a heap as he grunted, a slight scream escaping his lips as he grabbed his side, blood spurting between his fingers. Behind him, a short figure stood holding a dagger. Relieved, Tywin stood quickly and knocked Stannis’s sword aside before raising his own, his blade swinging in an arc. 

Stannis’s head flew from his shoulders as Arya gasped, shocked before rushing into her Lord's arms. Around them the battle slowly died down, the Baratheon soldiers taking note of the death of their commander, they threw down their swords surrendering all at once. Lannister and Tyrell soldiers cheered and shouted as they rounded up the enemy, herding them into small groups and binding them with ropes. 

Sliding off his helmet, Tywin leaned down, a frown on his face as he placed a hand on Arya’s shoulder. Before he could say anything however the city gates opened, and King Joffrey came out surrounded by his Kingsguard and the gold cloaks, smirking and boasting as he waved at the gathered soldiers.

“One would think he won the battle singlehandedly the way he gloated,” Arya thought, scowling at him from her place at Tywin’s side.

Tywin led Arya past him, heading into the city at the head of a column of Lannister and Tyrell forces, while behind him Joffrey shouted angry at being ignored and followed them, acting the part of a petulant child. Arya walked beside Tywin nervous and afraid at being back in the capital, but Tywin placed a hand on her shoulder, reassuring her with a smile as he led her towards the Red Keep. 

Marching into the Red Keep, Tywin headed towards the throne room, flanked by Arya and two of his captains. To his right Garlan Tyrell marched alongside him, his green and gold armor dented and stained red with blood, his antlered helm clutched securely under his right arm. Reaching the throne room, Tywin pushed the doors open.

The Throne Room was nearly empty, save for Cersei perched on the Iron Throne, Little Tommen in her lap as she stared ahead, terrified. Seeing her father, she visibly slumped in relief, as Tommen jumped up, running towards his grandfather. Slowly, Cersei stood and walked forward approaching her father…

TBC


	6. Discussions and Plots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lannisters plot to end the war and discuss the realm.

The battle for King’s Landing had been long and hard, but her lord was victorious, and Stannis Baratheon had finally been defeated. His army had surrendered, and the survivors were now in the dungeons beneath the Red Keep. Stannis had been killed in the battle and his head was now mounted on a pike above the city gates. In gratitude, Joffrey had named Lord Tywin Hand of the King and Savior of the City in a huge ceremony in the Throne Room with all the court looking on.

Arya was so proud of him, but she grimaced as she recalled the reception she had received from Cersei and Joffrey. They were furious when they saw her. Cersei had started forward suddenly at the sight of her, her face turning into a furious snarl as beside her Joffrey called for the castle guards to apprehend her. Panicking, she had hidden behind her lord, her small hands clutching at his crimson cloak as he wrapped an arm around her protectively.

Surprised, Cersei spluttered and stumbled back to her chair on the dais near the Throne, at a loss for words while Joffrey, terrified of Lord Tywin, said nothing of her within earshot. Tyrion fixed them both with a curious expression but said nothing. Meanwhile in the balconies and surrounding galleries, lords, ladies and knights whispered to each other, but Arya didn’t let them bother her. Their opinions were not important in the grand scheme of things.

In an obscure corner overlooked by the rest, Sansa stood rooted to the spot, frozen with fear as her sister was introduced, her hands clutching the railing, knuckles white as a wave of panic raced up her spine. Sansa waited until the gallery emptied out before approaching Lord Tywin and her sister as they walked in the direction of the Tower of the Hand. 

“Good day, my lord. I wonder if I may have a word alone with my sister.” She asked as she curtsied deeply, all courtesies as usual.

Arya looked up at Lord Tywin who nodded and led them to an empty alcove inside the Tower of the Hand before continuing to his chambers to change. When he was out of sight Sansa turned to face Arya, her eyes roving over her sister before pulling her into a hug, tears in her eyes. “Oh gods, Arya. It’s really you. I was so worried about you. Thank the gods you’re okay. But what are you doing here? With Tywin Lannister of all people?” She sobbed, hands gripping Arya’s shoulders. 

Arya wrapped her arms around her sister’s waist, her eyes misting with unshed tears as she buried her face in her sister’s gown. In the past, they had fought a lot, constantly at odds due to the many differences between them but after all that the pair had been through since their separation, it was wonderful to be reunited again.

Arya broke down crying softly. Slowly they broke apart and sat on a small bench in the alcove, facing each other. They spent the next few hours talking and relating to each other what had happened to them since they last saw each other.

Just a few short days after the defeat of the Baratheon forces, King’s Landing was coming back to life again. With the Baratheon fleet decimated, the blockade on the harbor was lifted allowing merchants to return to some of the smaller ports. Food shipments from the Reach had once again reached the city thanks to the efforts of the Tyrells and the markets were bustling with activity, children dashing this way and that as the people cheered whenever they saw the Golden Rose of House Tyrell.

Meanwhile, outside the city walls, laborers worked to clear away the wreckage from the battle, the remains of burnt ships being cleared from the harbor as the bodies of dead soldiers were stripped and burned. Three days after the battle, ravens had arrived bearing the news that Dragonstone had officially surrendered to the Crown and emissaries were now on the march to secure the submission of the Stormlands.

Aided in this was the written submission of the Storm lords still alive in the dungeons beneath the Red Keep who would be released in return for the surrender of their families. They would be required to pledge their loyalty to the Crown once again and surrender a tenth of their estates as a show of submission.  
XxxxxxxxxxxX

A week after the battle, the nobles at court gathered into the galleries of the throne room where Joffrey, dressed in rich purple and gold robes and wearing a smug grin, sat perched on the Iron Throne prepared to pass out rewards to a group of gathered noblemen in return for services rendered to the Crown during the recent turmoil. Sansa sighed and watched from the balcony above, unsure whether to be relieved or worried, her stomach tying itself in knots. 

In a grand ceremony earlier that day in the throne room, Joffrey had set her aside in favor of Margaery Tyrell. While she was relieved that she would no longer be forced to marry that monster, she couldn’t help but wonder what fate the future held for her now. She bit her lip and left the Throne room, heading towards the Tower of the Hand. The Lannister guards stood aside to admit her and upon entering she headed straight for her chambers. 

Shortly after taking up residence in the Tower of the Hand Tywin Lannister had relocated her chambers to the Tower so that she was now closer to her sister. She wasn’t sure why he had done so but at least now she could start to rest more easily at night. Joffrey would no longer be able to enter her chambers whenever he pleased now.

Exiting her chambers later that evening, Sansa quickly walked across the hall to the rooms that had been set aside for Arya. Sansa paused at the threshold when she reached the doors to Arya’s chambers listening carefully as she heard voices and what sounded like soft moans. Quietly and carefully, she inched the door to her sister’s chambers slightly ajar to peek inside and froze, her hands covering her mouth at the sight she saw.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Arya bit back a moan, her hands braced against her lord’s shoulders as she rocked her hips, her eyes shut tight, her brow glistening with sweat as the mahogany bedframe creaked, the headboard banging against the stone wall. Beneath her on the bed Tywin Lannister lay on his back, his large rough hands reaching up to fondle her rear, his hips thrusting upwards as she bounced up and down on his hard cock.

Arya panted, her body tensing, back arched taut as a bowstring as she came, her eyes rolled back in her head, mouth hanging open, drooling slightly as waves of pleasure coursed through her, her mind blank as her beloved lord moved over top of her, her short scrawny legs on either side of him as he thrust himself in and out of her, his lips capturing hers as he toyed with her clit, making her moan, her hips bucking, body convulsing as she climaxed again, cumming hard around his hard cock. Tywin was far from gentle as he thrust himself inside her and she winced, clinging tightly to him as she bit her lip.

Arya was embarrassed to admit it, but she liked it hard and rough. The pain and the pleasure combined to give her a thrill, making the act of submitting to her lord even more arousing for her. Above her, he stiffened, and she felt him swell inside her, warmth and wetness flooding her as he spilled his seed inside her. Tywin moaned and collapsed onto the bed beside her. 

Flushed but happy, she cuddled against him as his arms wrapped around her small frame and she nuzzled against his chest. Tywin smiled, caressing her cheek as she beamed up at him.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Sansa quickly turned away from the door and took a shuddering breath. Shocked to her very core, she walked back to her chambers, closing the door behind her before hurrying across the room. She sat on her bed, her arms hugging her sides as she struggled to process what she had just seen.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Tywin sat up in bed and stifled a yawn before standing, pulling his trousers on and fastening them before picking up his white linen shirt, pulling it on over his head. Standing, he crossed the room and passed through the door that connected her chambers to his. He headed to his solar in the Tower of the Hand as behind him Arya pulled her smallclothes back on and smoothed her nightdress out as she joined him at his desk watching him sign his name to a letter and seal it with the Royal Seal.

A lot had happened in the week that had passed since the battle. The Stormlands and Dragonstone were now officially under the control of the Crown and because of Tyrion’s plan to betroth Princess Myrcella to Prince Trystane Martell and the promise of justice for Elia and her children, Dorne had sent assurances to King’s Landing that they would keep the peace. To help soothe some of the bitter feelings between the Lannisters and the Martells, Prince Oberyn, The Red Viper of Dorne, had been invited to court to take up a post on the Small Council but so far there had been no reply from him on the matter.

“Who are you writing to, my lord?” Arya asked, nuzzling his shoulder.

Tywin turned his head and kissed her cheek before meeting her gaze. “Just working on a plan to settle the war with the Northern lords.” He said quietly.

Arya glanced at the letters before looking up at him, a wary expression on her face. “You’ll be merciful, won’t you? They are my countrymen.” She said looking at him.

Tywin considered her for a moment, his eyes softening. “If they strike their banners and swear an oath to the Crown, I’ll spare their lives and grant them a pardon.” He said, looking at her.

“And my brother Robb?” She asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Your brother has rebelled against the Crown and declared himself King in the North. I will try to negotiate but I can’t make any promises.” Tywin said quietly. Arya nodded and said nothing, her eyes downcast.

“I promise to do my very best to end things peacefully with your brother.” Tywin said, reaching out for her.

Arya smiled, leaning up on her tiptoes, she kissed him, his fingers carding through her dark hair. He pulled back as a knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” he called sitting up in his chair.

The door opened, and Tyrion Lannister walked into the room, a large leather-bound book in his hands. He sat in a chair in front of the desk and Arya quickly poured wine for her lord and Tyrion before backing off to the side. “What is it you need at this hour exactly?” Tywin asked calmly, his tone empty of malice as he sipped his wine and focused his gaze on his son.

Tyrion placed the large book on the desk and opened it, revealing it was, in fact, one of the Royal ledgers. “I’m here about the Crown’s finances. The war is decimating the Crown’s resources and this royal wedding isn’t helping.” Tyrion stated before continuing when his father said nothing. 

“What’s more, I’ve recently discovered that the gold Petyr Baelish is so famous for producing for the Crown was in fact borrowed from various sources.” Tyrion said, glancing up at his father.

“I suspected as much. What about the forfeiture of estates by the lords of Dragonstone and the Stormlands? As far as the wedding is concerned, ask the Tyrells to chip in gold for the costs. The wedding benefits them as much as us.” Tywin replied, looking at Tyrion.

“I have spoken to the Tyrells and they have agreed to take on half of the costs. But there is still the matter of the other debts. With the Storm lords and Dragonstone rebelling against the Crown they have forfeited any rights to repayment of loans owed by the Crown and the forfeiture of estates is helping but with Joffrey rewarding the nobles loyal to the crown with new lands and titles that is pretty much gone.” Tyrion said.

“What about the Crown’s levies?” Tywin asked, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s true that income for the Crown is at it’s highest ever but so are the Crown’s expenses.” Tyrion stated.

Tywin considered his son, sighing as he sipped his wine. “What would you like me to do about it?” he asked.

Tyrion paused, sipping his wine as he considered his words. “If you were to forgive the Crown its debt to House Lannister that would go a long way towards helping the situation.” He said slowly.

Tywin sat up in his chair, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. The debt stands, and House Lannister will receive its due.” He said firmly.

“Then perhaps we can discuss the war.” Tyrion said, looking at his father. 

“Go ahead.” Tywin said, reclining once again.

“We have the allegiance of the Crownlands and the Westerlands. With the betrothal of Myrcella to Prince Trystane Martell, we have a lasting peace with Dorne. And Petyr Baelish has brought the Vale to us in exchange for being named Lord of Harrenhal. We also have the Reach. Stannis Baratheon is dead, and his former bannermen have surrendered to the Crown, restoring Dragonstone and the Stormlands to our control. Still, the North, the Riverlands, and the Iron Islands remain in open rebellion.” Tyrion said calmly, looking at his father.

“This war is half over then. The Northern lords are fighting with the Iron Islanders who have captured Winterfell from the Starks and Ser Gregor is laying siege to Riverrun. The Riverlands will soon be under our control as well. As far as the Ironborn are concerned, I believe that if we offer them a betrothal, we can bring them back into the fold.” Tywin said taking another sip of his wine.

“A betrothal? Who do you intend to offer them?” Tyrion asked curiously.

“Your sister Cersei is still young and capable of bearing children. She will make a decent match for Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands.” Tywin said.

“Good luck getting her to agree to that.” Tyrion snorted.

Tywin frowned, misliking the sarcastic tone in Tyrion’s voice. “Cersei will do her duty. As will you.” He said sharply.

Tyrion looked up, a surprised look on his face. “Me? What do you mean?” He asked.

Tywin considered his son briefly as he finished the last of his wine before speaking. “I’ve recently discovered that the Tyrells are plotting to marry Sansa Stark to Lord Tyrell’s eldest son.”

“So, they wish to provide a match for her. How exactly does that concern House Lannister or the Crown?” Tyrion asked with a sigh.

“It concerns us because they are plotting against us to steal the North. I intend to marry Sansa Stark to you instead and put an end to their plotting once and for all.” Tywin said as a frown crossed his features.

“Sansa Stark is a child. Surely there is some other Lannister relation, someone younger that you can marry her too.” Tyrion said as he stood from his chair, protesting loudly while sparing Arya a strained glance.

Calm as ever, Tywin focused his gaze on his son. “She is seventeen. A maiden flowered. More than capable of bearing children and it is high time you quit your whores and settled down. With Jaime in the Kingsguard and unable to wed, you are heir to Casterly Rock. You’ll need a highborn bride to secure the future of our house. Besides if this war goes badly for the Northern lords, this match could secure our family’s hold on the North.” Tywin said voice stern as Arya looked at him, fidgeting where she stood. 

Tywin took a breath then continued. “The arrangements have already been made and the matter is settled. You’ll wed the Stark girl in two weeks’ time, and immediately after the wedding the two of you will travel to Casterly Rock to manage our estates in my absence.” Tywin said with finality.

Tyrion sat stunned, listening to his father. “Me…? Heir to Casterly Rock? But what about Jaime? Surely the High Septon can set aside his vows.” He asked gazing at his father.

“I have spoken to Jaime on the matter repeatedly in the past. Despite my objections, he refuses to abandon his vows to the Kingsguard and will not be moved on the matter. Now that he is a captive of the Northern rebels, the safe production of an heir for our house is even more imperative.” Tywin said, an edge to his tone.

Tyrion stood, nodding to himself before looking to his father. “I understand, father. I’ll marry the Stark girl as you demand and do my best to govern the Westerlands as you have.” With that Tyrion turned and exited the Tower of the Hand, so deeply lost in thought that he barely noticed where he was walking.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Stretching, Tywin stood, heading towards the bedchamber he shared with Arya as she approached him. He smiled at her and lifted her up off the floor and into his arms, cuddling her against his chest as she giggled, her hands settling on his shoulders as she looked into his eyes. With a smile Tywin carried her into the bedroom and pulled back the bedcovers laying her down gently on the feather mattress. He took a moment to admire her before climbing into bed beside her. 

Tywin leaned in, kissing her lips as his rough hands pushed her nightdress up and over her head, tossing it to the floor before tugging down her smallclothes, slipping them past her ankles and raising them to his nose, deeply inhaling her scent. Arya bit her bottom lip, her mind racing as Tywin moved between her short legs, his face nuzzling against her stomach, his hands teasing across her small hips.

“Do you really mean to marry Sansa to Tyrion, my lord?” She asked, fidgeting as she propped herself up on her elbows.

“Of course, sweetness. Why do you ask?” He replied, kissing and caressing her pale thighs. 

Arya bit her lip worriedly. “Well my lord, it’s just that you’re marrying Tyrion to Sansa and Cersei to the Iron Islands. What do you intend to do with me?” She asked, gripping the bedsheets as his lips brushed across the pale pink lips of her slit, eliciting a quiet purring sound from her.

Tywin paused and looked up at her, his hands on her knees. “You belong to me, sweetheart. You’ll remain here with me.” He said calmly, as though no other possibility existed.

Arya beamed happily, relief settling across her features as she relaxed against the pillows while Tywin leaned back down, his tongue swiping across her glistening lips. Arya’s hands reached down, gripping his head, pulling it tight against her as his tongue pushed between her soft lips, teasing, licking, tasting, his fingers gently probed her sheath, pushing a digit inside. Tywin wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking and gently nipping the swollen bud as his fingers thrust in and out of her, eliciting soft whimpers and mewling sounds from Arya.

Arya panted as her hips bucked, her head tossed back, her hips grinding against his hand as he sucked and gently swiped his tongue across her sensitive clit. Her mind a haze of lust and pleasure, she turned her head and buried her face into the pillow next to her, stifling her cries of pleasure, her body convulsing, shaking as her orgasm hit her hard, her juices flooding her lord’s mouth as she slackened, going limp and breathing hard as she lay her head against the pillows.

Tywin moved up to lay beside her, licking his lips as he held her against his chest. Arya cuddled against him, a quiet yawn escaping her lips. The hour was late and they both needed to get to sleep.

TBC


	7. Arguments and Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa receives a surprise and Tywin's schemes continue.

The next morning dawned all too soon, the sun’s rays shining through the stained-glass windows, casting a sparkling image of the Lannister lion on the walls of the room. Arya sat up in bed and stretched, shrugging off her blankets. Sighing, she hugged her arms to her chest, shivering from the cold. She was used to the cold, having lived in the North all her life but she had been born during the long summer and this was her first winter. Having spent the last four years in the south, she was still acclimating to the differences in the weather.

Meanwhile, the fire had died down and the room was cold enough that her breath misted the air. It had not yet begun to snow outside but winter was well and truly here. Missing her lord, Arya turned to the side and saw that Tywin’s half of the bed was empty. In his place lay a rose and a letter with her name on it. She picked up the flower and opened the letter, a smile forming on her face.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry I can’t be here when you wake up, but I want you to know that before you came into my life my world was cloudy and gray. Since we’ve been together every day has become like a never-ending dream. I look forward to every minute we spend together. I love you, Arya.  
Tywin.”

Arya climbed out of bed, clutching the letter and the flower to her chest, dressed in a pale red nightdress while serving girls filled her bathtub with hot water from the kitchens and scented it with her favorite lilac and pine scented bath oils. She had chosen these scents because they reminded her of home, lilac being her mother’s favorite scent and pines being the trees she and Bran had climbed together years ago before everything had changed.

After her bath, Arya dressed in a pair of breeches and a tunic before pulling on her tooled leather boots. Tywin had finally relented and agreed to buy her several of the outfits after her repeated protestations of wearing the elaborate dresses ladies were expected to wear at court. Nearby, needle sat on a table in her chambers.

With a smile, she recalled the day they set out from Harrenhal. It had taken some careful persuasion on her part, but she had always been clever and resourceful. With a bit of luck and a well-timed request, when Tywin was most vulnerable, she had convinced him to recover Needle from Ser Amory Lorch and return it to her.

After dressing she sat in front of the vanity in her dressing room and took a moment to admire the lion’s head pendant her lord had given her.

Shortly after arriving in King’s Landing, Tywin had surprised her with a small wrapped parcel and insisted she open it right away. Inside lay a golden lion’s head pendant with the mouth open in a silent roar. Overwhelmed by the gesture she took it, quickly slipping it around her neck before rushing forward to hug him. He smiled, his arms wrapping around her shoulders as she thanked him, promising never to take it off.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Flashback

Tywin entered the Tower of the Hand and walked into the sitting room he shared with Arya. Spotting her sitting on the sofa polishing her sword, he crossed the room and knelt in front of her, clutching a small wrapped parcel in his hands.

“Tywin. You’re back.” Arya beamed setting Needle aside.

“Yes, sweetheart. And I come bearing a present.” Tywin said with a smile.

“Really? A present for me? What is it?” Arya asked excitedly.

Tywin grinned and offered the small, neatly wrapped parcel to her. “Open it and see, Sweetheart.” He said.

Eagerly, Arya accepted the parcel and quickly unwrapped it, her breath catching as she saw what lay inside. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Tywin. I’ll wear it always and think of you whenever I look at it.” She said, fastening the pendant around her neck.

Flashback Ends.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Lost in thought Arya almost didn’t hear the knock on her dressing room doors before they opened, admitting her sister. Arya looked up, smiling as she saw her sister. “Sansa, please come join me,” she said.

Sansa crossed the room slowly, her hands fidgeting at her sides and an awkward expression on her face. At Arya’s invitation, she pulled a chair over and sat beside her, casting worried glances at her younger sister. Sensing something was bothering her, Arya turned to face her.

“What’s wrong, Sansa? You look like you have something on your mind. Do you want to talk about it?” She asked.

Sansa’s nervous fidgeting increased as she struggled for words. “Arya, a…are you…well that is…um, Arya are you happy here? With the Lannisters…Lord Tywin I mean. Does he mistreat you?” She stammered a worried expression on her face.

Arya blinked, confused. “Of course. I’m very happy here. Why wouldn’t I be? Lord Tywin is a hard man, but he has treated me well enough.” She replied.

Sansa grimaced, worried about how to broach the subject of last night. “Well, it’s just that last night…I went to visit you and I…well…look Arya. I saw him rape you.” She replied rushing forward to hug her sister.

Arya stiffened, pulling back away from Sansa shocked. “You saw us? Sansa, he didn’t rape me. We were just fucking, that’s all.” She said, trying to reassure her sister.

Sansa gasped, shocked at both her sister’s explanation and choice of words. “Y…you mean you went to his bed willingly?” She replied startled and somewhat scandalized at Arya’s crude language.

“Of course. I enjoy being with Tywin in that way. I love him.” Arya replied calmly.

“But Arya, what about our family? What about your future?” Sansa asked outraged.

“I’m a Stark and I always will be Sansa. I love our family. But I love Tywin too. My future is by his side. Besides you shouldn’t speak ill of the Lannisters too much given your own betrothal.” Arya said angrily.

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked nervously.

“Lord Tywin intends to marry you to Lord Tyrion. You’ll be the future Lady of the Rock.” Arya replied as she stood and walked into the sitting room.

Sansa stood and slowly followed, a lump forming in her throat as she tried to process this new information. “T…Tyrion Lannister? They’re going to marry me to him?” She spluttered.

“Of course,” Arya said casually as she picked up an apple from a nearby bowl of fruit.

“But why? I mean I can’t. I’m to marry Garlan Tyrell and be the Lady of the Reach.” Sansa insisted.

Arya snorted, taking a bite of the apple. “Those plans are done and over. Besides, haven’t you learned the songs and stories you love so much are just that? Songs and stories. This is the real world and it’s far from beautiful. Besides, Lord Tyrion is a nice enough fellow. Sure, he drinks a lot and has a loose reputation when it comes to women of a certain profession, but he’s kind and honorable too.” She said as she turned to look at Sansa.

“A glowing endorsement indeed.” A voice replied from the entrance to the parlor. Walking forward, Tyrion Lannister entered the room, inclining his head to each of them in turn.

Arya turned to face Tyrion, motioning towards a seat beside them. “Will you join us, my lord?” she asked politely.

“Thank you, but no. I actually came to speak to your sister, my lady.” Tyrion said, smiling.

“As you wish,” Arya said returning to her apple.

Sansa stood; her head bowed as Tyrion approached. “Of course, my lord.” She replied and followed him to a nearby alcove.

Settling onto a small bench in the alcove, Tyrion turned to face Sansa who sat with her hands folded, looking nervous. “I assume you have heard by now the news of our betrothal,” he said delicately, his mismatched eyes focusing on her.

“Yes. My sister told me a few moments before you arrived.” She said, a slight waver to her voice.

“I am aware this is not what you might have wished for. Believe me, I wish I could have spared you this fate, that instead, you could be in the North with your family. But my father often gets his way in these matters.” Tyrion said quietly.

Sansa raised her head, facing him and spoke quickly to reassure him. “I will do my duty, my lord. As my sister has done.”

Tyrion grimaced but tried to reach out to her. “I know this marriage isn’t what you dreamed of as a girl, nor am I the groom you dreamed of, but I shall try to be a good husband to you. I give you my word I won’t force you.” He said, to which she nodded slowly turning to face him.

“I never thanked you for all that you did to try and protect me from Joffrey’s cruelty. You truly are an honorable man. Thank you, my lord.” She replied with a smile.

“It was nothing, Lady Sansa. Even if this marriage doesn’t please you, I shall do my very best to at least try and make you happy. Farewell for now.” He said as he turned, excusing himself and walked away.

Sansa returned to the parlor where her sister sat waiting for her. “So, what did he want?” Arya asked her while running a whetstone along the length of Needle’s blade. Tywin had permitted her to carry it around with her on the condition that it not be used to harm anyone and that she only practice with it in the old chamber she had used before with Syrio Forel.

Sansa sat and straightened out her skirts as she faced Arya. “He just wanted to reassure me about the betrothal and to make sure I was okay with him. Arya, must you carry that thing around with you? It’s not exactly fitting behavior for a lady, especially here at court.” She sighed, shaking her head.

Arya sat the whetstone aside and looked at her, Needle resting in her lap. “I’m not interested in being a proper lady. Besides Tywin doesn’t mind my having it and neither did father. He even hired a tutor for me. I’m hoping Tywin will agree to let me take up lessons again.” Arya replied with a huff.

Sansa shook her head and helped herself to a pear from the bowl on the table. “I can’t imagine what father and Lord Tywin were thinking to agree to that.” She thought to herself but said nothing.

XxxxxxxxxxxX  
Lord Tywin sat at the large wooden desk in his solar, several maps, letters and documents spread out on the large desk in front of him. He had spent the morning working on a scheme to free Jaime. A little over an hour ago he had finalized the first half of his plans and sent a letter to his agents in the Riverlands. It had taken a lot of coercion and more time than he would have liked but he had managed to settle a deal with House Frey to betray the North in exchange for a sum of Lannister gold and agreeing to invest Lord Walder’s son Emmon Frey, the husband of his sister Gemma, as the new Lord of Riverrun when the Crown reclaimed it from the Tully and Stark bannermen who still held it in Robb Stark’s name.

The siege of Riverrun had been going on for some time and Tywin was certain that it would soon submit to the Crown. The Lannister army had taken every other major holdfast and village in the Riverlands and Petyr Baelish had agreed to lead the Knights of the Vale west to help settle the siege once and for all after his marriage to Lysa Tully.

That had been an unexpected turn of events as well. It was well known at court that Lysa Arryn had been highly unstable. When her husband had passed mysteriously to the shock of many, she fled to the Eyrie with her young son. The young lord of the Vale was still a child and Lysa had been named as his Regent. As such she would have no end of suitors for her hand. For reasons unknown, she had chosen to accept a suit from Petyr Baelish of all people, who had been of minor standing before being given Harrenhal and the marriage contract was being finalized.

After Riverrun fell under the control of the Crown the Southern kingdoms of Westeros would be unified, and they could begin to consolidate for an assault on the Neck. According to Varys’s birds, Jaime was being kept in the cells beneath Riverrun, where the Tullys and Robb Stark were making their stand, holding out for reinforcements from the North, once the Ironborn were dealt with.

Tywin signed his name to the document in front of him and sealed it before turning to the raven he had selected to deliver the message, unwilling to entrust a Maester to deliver the message on his behalf. In this den of vipers called King’s Landing, nobody could be trusted. The fewer people who knew of his plans the better. He attached the scroll to the bird’s leg and opened the window in his solar. The bird promptly took off into the sky as Tywin stood back, stretching stiff muscles before pouring himself a glass of wine. If all went as planned, he would soon have his son back and the war with the Northerners would be over once and for all.

Now that one headache was over it was time to deal with another. Tywin pushed a hand through his thinning hair and finished his wine before leaving his solar and heading off in search of his daughter. Walking down the halls of the castle towards Cersei’s chambers he paused outside her rooms, the doors slightly ajar. Hearing noises from within he opened the door and strode inside looking worried. Entering her bedchambers, the noises grew louder, and he paused, shocked and furious at what he saw.

Crouched on all fours on the massive bed in the corner of the room and facing away from him, was his daughter Cersei. Behind her, naked save for an undershirt and his Kingsguard cloak, was the newly appointed Osmund Kettleblack. The pair were rutting like animals, the bed shaking as they moaned.

“CERSEI!” He thundered furiously.

Instantly, the pair on the bed froze and quickly pulled apart, hurrying to cover themselves. Ser Osmund moved back fearfully, unable to say anything, his mouth opening and closing. Meanwhile, Cersei stammered, nervous and terrified at the look on her father’s face.

Tywin turned to Ser Osmund and glaring at him, spoke. “Go get dressed and get out of my sight. Say nothing of this to anyone.”

Ser Osmund hurried to obey while Cersei wrapped the bed sheets around herself, swallowing nervously as she gazed at her father, her blond hair hanging loosely around her bare shoulders. “Father, I can explain.” She stammered nervously, casting fearful eyes at her father.

Tywin’s eyes flashed dangerously as he fixed his gaze on his daughter. “Oh, please do. I’d love to hear it.” He said.

“Well, we…we were just…um, you see we were only…” Cersei broke off when Tywin interrupted her.

“I understand perfectly, Cersei.” He replied.

“Really? Err, I mean you do?” Cersei said, in what he assumed was meant to be a reassuring voice.

“Of course. That’s why I’m going to give you two choices,” he said, voice eerily calm as he gazed at her.

“Choices?” Cersei asked swallowing nervously, forcing herself to look up and meet her father’s gaze.

Tywin fixed her with a stern gaze, nodding slowly. “Indeed. You have two choices. You can either agree to a betrothal between yourself and Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands or you can be disowned and exiled to the Free Cities, to live out your remaining years in poverty and despair,” He said.

Cersei spluttered before finding her voice. “I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not a broodmare. I will not be…” She started angrily but Tywin cut across her, his voice stern and full of anger.

“You are the Queen Regent a kingdom that owes a massive debt to House Lannister. A Queen Regent who is dependent on the wealth of House Lannister to sustain herself. Queen Regent of a fractured realm that is completely dependent on Lannister arms to maintain its stability and authority. Without House Lannister your son would be unable to maintain his hold on power and the rebel armies would long ago have taken this city and put your head on a pike. That support can all disappear if you refuse. I will put to rest these disgusting rumors about you and your brother once and for all.” He said, voice like a whip.

Cersei paused, clearly uncertain, before shaking her head. “You wouldn’t dare turn your back on our family’s claim on the Iron Throne. You’re joking…,” She said although she seemed to be trying to convince herself more than him.

Tywin raised an eyebrow, almost amused. “You’ve known me all your life Cersei. Tell me honestly. Have you ever once known me to tell a joke?” He asked looking down at her from where he stood.

Cersei gulped, her shoulders slumping in defeat as her gaze lowered to the floor. “As you wish.” She said in a quiet voice.

“And from now on you will cease this immoral behavior. I’ll not have my daughter behaving like a whore. I don’t want anyone to be able to question your character from this point forward. Now dress.” He said as he turned away from her about to leave the room.

“But you are content to keep your little Stark whore warming your bed,” she muttered under her breath, glaring angrily at her father’s retreating form.

Turning back, Tywin leveled an angry glare at her. “What was that?” He asked looking back at her.

Cersei mustered her courage in a rare show of defiance and spoke. “It’s okay for you to keep the Stark girl in your bed but it’s not okay for me to take a lover. Robert is dead and buried, Father. Where’s the harm?” She asked in a fury.

“That’s not the issue here. Taking a lover is fine as long as your discreet Cersei. Many people at court do so. The harm is having a steady stream of men parading through your chambers for all the court to see. Did you really think the rumors wouldn’t reach me Cersei? Half the court secretly calls you the Slattern Queen. These disgusting rumors must end.” Tywin snapped his face flushed with fury.

“I understand father.” She said shrinking back and casting her father a terrified glance.

“And what I choose to do with Arya Stark is none of your concern. You’ll keep to your own affairs and leave me to mine. Now I suggest you end things with your lovers. You’ll be sailing to Pyke soon to wed Balon Greyjoy.” He said softly before turning and leaving.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Returning to the suite of rooms that he shared with Arya, he entered the sitting room and found her settled by the fire, reading an old book on military strategy from his private library. Walking over to her, he smiled and carded his fingers through her hair. Startled, she looked up, nuzzling her face against his hand when she realized who it was. “Good evening, my lord.” She said, beaming up at him.

Tywin smiled, sitting beside her on the sofa and pulling her into his arms. The book she had been reading now lay entirely forgotten as his lips captured hers. Tywin placed a hand on her hip, his tongue slipping into her mouth as his hand moved down, cupping her rear. Arya purred, grinding her rear against his hands, her tongue wrestling with his. Her body came alive at his touch, warmth spreading throughout her body, his hands kneading her rear as the dampness built between her legs.

“Arya, are you…? Oh my.” A quiet voice spoke from the doorway.

The pair quickly broke apart at the voice, Arya moving out of Tywin’s lap and settling beside him on the sofa as she straightened out her clothes. “Sansa, what are you doing up at this hour?” Arya asked, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

“I…I…I couldn’t sleep and came to see if you were still up.” Sansa stuttered, backing slowly towards the door.

“I was waiting up for Tywin. What’s troubling you?” Arya replied worried, looking at her sister.

Sansa paused, fumbling for words as she looked to her sister. “I was just wondering if you would like to go riding in the Kingswood tomorrow morning after breakfast, that is if you don’t have plans.” She replied, looking nervously between the two.

Arya looked askance at Lord Tywin who nodded in reply. “Sure. Why not.” She replied smiling.

“Excellent. Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Sansa said, turning and quickly leaving their chambers for her own, immensely relieved to be free of the awkward situation.

Arya turned back to Tywin, biting her bottom lip. She grinned at him before standing and heading over to the doors, sliding the heavy steel bolt into place. Excited, she turned back to Tywin walking slowly towards him as she stripped out of her clothes before kneeling, naked at his feet.  
Arya worked the laces on Tywin’s breeches, pulling them down along with his undergarments as he raised his hips. Arya grinned up at him and reaching forward she grasped his cock, stroking the shaft as it twitched against her palm, beginning to harden in her hands. She leaned forward, trailing gentle kisses and licks up and down the length, her small hands stroking his balls as she took his head into her mouth, sealing her lips tight around his thick shaft, her head bobbing slowly up and down.  
Tywin gripped her head, his fingers tangling in her dark hair as he thrust gently in and out of her warm, wet mouth. His mouth slightly open, quietly moaning, his eyes half closed. Arya hollowed her cheeks sucking hard as her lord moaned, her tongue moving up and down along the shaft, teasing the sensitive underside before darting across the tip. When Tywin’s hips began to buck, she quickly pulled away as he got close, giggling as his eyes darted open, a frustrated whine escaping his lips as he looked at her.  
“Don’t pout, my lord.” She said as she stood slowly, licking her lips, her body on fire as her juices dripped down her legs, she straddled his hips, settling herself over him, she gripped his cock and guided him slowly inside her, lowering herself down on him she began to ride him her hands resting on his shoulders. She braced herself, bouncing up and down along his hard shaft, his cock spreading her open, making her gasp as he filled her completely.  
Tywin moaned, head tilted back, his eyes shut as his left-hand gripped Arya’s slender hips, guiding her movements, his right teasing her clit, gently pinching and tugging the swollen nub, making her whimper as her body shook, her movements erratic as her pleasure heightened, driving her close. She bit her lip, bouncing faster as her orgasm crashed over her, her mind going blank as Tywin lifted her off him, pushing her onto her hands and knees on the floor.  
Moving behind her he guided his hard cock back inside her, thrusting into her dripping core fast and hard, his hands kneading her rear, moaning as he grew closer, his breathing heavier, he thrust deeply, his member swelling as he stiffened, spilling his seed inside her clutching sheath.  
Completely spent, Arya collapsed against the thick, soft carpeting, moaning as Tywin pulled out of her, his hands roaming across her skin as they recovered their breath. He pulled her into his lap, his lips finding hers, he kissed her deeply, sighing as she melted into his arms.  
“I love you, Arya.” He smiled, cuddling her against his chest, his fingers teasing along her jaw.

“I love you too, my lord.” She smiled, kissing his thumb before gently nipping the digit, causing him to grin.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Cersei fumed, pacing back and forth in her chambers. “How dare he…? I’m the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I must do something. I can’t let him marry me off again. I refuse to go through that again. There must be something I can do. If only Jaime were here…” She thought bitterly.  
Stumbling across the room to the table, she poured herself another drink. “Sweet, perfect Jaime. Father’s golden lion. Mother’s favorite. The chosen one.” She thought with contempt as she downed her glass in one gulp and refilled it again.

“It had been that way ever since they were born. Jaime was the heir, the warrior, the one destined to inherit Casterly Rock even though she was the eldest. All because he was born a male while she had been unlucky enough to be female.” She mentally raged. Finishing her drink, she tried to pour another, but the bottle was empty. Tossing it aside she reached for a new bottle.

“Jaime is a lovesick fool who doesn’t understand how the world really works and Tyrion…that wretched misshapen mistake that killed her mother. I’m the only real son father has.” She thought to herself as she staggered around the room on unsteady feet.

She strode over to the table and poured herself another drink. She had spent the evening drinking glass after glass of wine as she fumed, trying desperately to think of a way out of this. She wrung her hands, fists clenching the folds of her dress, she swayed, making her way across the room and collapsed onto the bed, the world going dark around her as the wine took hold and she passed out.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

In a dark cell beneath the castle, Jaime mentally prepared himself. Earlier that day, a mysterious visitor had appeared outside his cell, cloaked and hooded. He whispered quietly, warning Jaime to be ready. Tonight, at the first watch, while the guards were changing shifts, they would break him out and escort him to safety…

TBC


	8. Brothels, Booze, and Threats

The hours seemed to drudge by slower than a snail and he was becoming increasingly impatient. He longed to be rid of this dark and stinking cell and escape to freedom. He was tired of the dampness of the cell, the stench coming from both himself and the waste bucket in the corner and the darkness. Most of all he was tired of being alone. He desperately missed Cersei, his twin, and even his annoying brother, Tyrion. If Cersei could see him now, she would likely have a heart attack. Tyrion, however, would no doubt make some clever jape that they would later laugh over. It hurt to be so far from those he loved. He wondered how Cersei was dealing with his absence.

The only time he ever saw another human being was when the guard stopped by to deliver his meal for the day. He had tried on occasion to taunt the guard, to coax him into speaking in order to break up the never-ending monotony of his routine but the guard simply ignored him and left, leaving him alone once again with only his dark thoughts and the rats for company.

With a whine of frustration, Jaime kicked the bars of his cell and resumed his furious pacing, back and forth inside his cramped cell until finally the hour came and the cloaked figure appeared, calling quietly to him. 

“Psst, it’s time. Are you ready?” the figure asked reaching inside his cloak for a set of keys on a heavy brass ring.

“What kind of stupid question was that? I have been ready to escape this wretched cell since I first entered it.” Jaime thought as he crossed the cell to the bars as the figure unlocked the gate.

Exiting the cell, Jaime shot one last contemptuous glare at the cell behind him before allowing the cloaked figure to lead him down the darkened corridor.

“Keep quiet and move quickly.” The cloaked stranger whispered as they moved through empty corridors and down along a secret staircase, leading outside to a skiff tethered to a small harbor. There was no moon tonight, so they would have to navigate by memory and the stars alone. They quickly climbed into the boat and the stranger untethered it before grabbing the oars and pushing off. Jaime settled comfortably into the small skiff as the figure began to quietly row them downstream, moving carefully as they passed sentries, making slowly for the Lannister camps in the distance.

Things were going smoothly when suddenly from behind, there were shouts, and torches being lit inside the castle. Their absence discovered the figure rowed harder, working quickly to escape before the inhabitants of Riverrun discovered their location. After about twenty minutes of furious rowing they reached the area downstream where the Lannister army was camped outside Riverrun.

Docking the boat, they waded ashore and were quickly apprehended by Lannister soldiers who dragged them to the Command tent where Ser Devan Lannister and Gregor Clegane were seated around a table, discussing plans for the battle.

The pair were ushered inside and one of the soldiers pulled the stranger’s cloak back revealing a weasel-like face. “A Frey,” Jaime realized with a start.

Walking forward, Ser Devan considered the pair before grinning and moved to embrace Jaime. “Cousin Jaime, gods above but you look like shit.” He laughed, stepping back.

Jaime cocked a grin and tilted his head. “It’s been some time, cousin. So, how have you been?” He asked feeling his old smugness returning.

Ser Devan shook his head, a smile on his face. “Oh well enough, I suppose. And yourself?” He asked.

Jaime smiled, crossing the room to sit in one of the wooden camp chairs and poured himself a glass of wine from the table beside him. “Eh, I can’t complain. Good wine, good health. Life is what it is.” He said.

“I suppose you’ll want to freshen up after you’ve finished your wine. I’ll have one of the men prepare a hot bath and layout clean clothes for you, then we’ll talk later once you’re recovered.” Ser Devan said, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

Jaime nodded his thanks and finished his wine, saying nothing.

“And you Ser Edwyn. Your father shall have his reward when the castle is taken. Now that Ser Jaime is safe we can begin the siege in earnest. And here’s your payment for your service. Five hundred gold dragons as promised,” Ser Devan said, handing the Frey a large fat purse.

Edwyn Frey took the purse gratefully and tucked it inside his cloak, bowing his head to each in turn. “My thanks, my lords. If I may be so bold, my father has requested that you cause as little damage to the castle as possible when you begin the siege in earnest. Out of respect for the services rendered by House Frey.” He said before being led from the tent by a Lannister soldier. 

“Bothersome little weasels those Freys. Still, they have their uses,” Ser Devan said turning back to Jaime.

“So, House Frey has declared for the Crown has it?” Jaime asked, turning to face the pair.

“Robb Stark broke his promise to Walder Frey and married some peasant girl instead. The old man wanted to have him killed, but your father convinced him to betray him and help take him prisoner for the Crown instead.” Ser Gregor said, speaking for the first time.

Jaime who had always been wary of the giant of a man nodded to him but said little. A squire entered the tent and bowed. “My lord your bath is ready, and we have clean clothing laid out for you,” He said, eyes down.

Jaime nodded to Ser Devan, thanking him and stood, walking out into the cold night air as the squire led him to a tent that had been set aside for him. Upon entering the tent, Jaime dismissed the boy and stripped before climbing into the large steaming tub with a sigh as he picked up a bar of soap and a rag and began scrubbing himself.

After his bath, Jaime sat in a camp chair in front of a small mirror in his tent, shaving off the heavy growth of his beard with a straight razor. The tent was spartan, a small firepit, a cot with a heavy blanket, a desk, and two small wooden camp chairs. The tent was always heated by a fire which servants kept lit to ward off the winter chill and a few candles, placed on the table beside him.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Arya woke earlier than usual the next morning, sitting up in bed. Beside her Tywin lay sleeping, his head resting on a pillow. Arya smiled, watching him sleep before getting up and crossing the room, stoking the fire and adding a few logs to keep it lit. She mused that Tywin would be horrified that she tended her own fire but attributed it to Southern foolishness. The Northerner in her reminded her that a life of wasteful luxury should be frowned upon. The warmth of the flames was refreshing in the morning chill and she leaned in closer, savoring the warmth and the scent of the pine logs crackling in the hearth, old and pleasant memories flashing through her mind. She was happy here with Tywin, enjoying her life with him and relishing in the affection he showered on her when they were alone but part of her longed for the comfort of her family. Her parents and brothers and the familiarity of Winterfell in the North. With a sigh, Arya wrapped a thick woolen robe, lined with rabbit fur around her shoulders and walked into the outer chambers. She rang a bell rope and one of Lord Tywin’s servants appeared quickly, bowing low. 

“How may I be of service, my lady?” He asked.

“Go to the kitchens and fetch a bowl of fruit, some heated wine, bacon, and oatcakes,” She said looking at him.

“Right away, my lady.” He said as he straightened up and hurried away.

Arya crossed the room to the sofa and sat, picking up the book she had been reading the previous night and picked up where she had left off. A few minutes later she heard movement in the other room and looked up as her lord entered, dressed in a tunic and breeches. Evidently, he had the morning to himself for a change, she decided considering his attire. He crossed the room and sat beside her, leaning in and softly kissing her, his fingers carding through her hair.

“Morning, my love,” Tywin said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Good morning yourself, Tywin. Sleep well?” Arya asked, smiling up at him.

Tywin was just about to answer when a knock sounded at the door and the pair broke apart. 

“Enter,” Tywin called, looking towards the door.

The door opened, and the servant boy entered, carrying the tray of food and wine. He crossed the room, setting the tray on the coffee table, before bowing and backing out of the room again.

Tywin turned to face Arya, who smiled. “I thought you might be hungry after last night.” She replied, helping herself to a few grapes.

“Absolutely famished.” He replied, his hands pushing her back against the sofa.

“Are you never satisfied, my lord?” She giggled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Never, when it comes to you.” Tywin smiled, leaning in and capturing her lips.

Arya melted into his arms, kissing him back as his tongue pushed into her mouth, probing, teasing, wrestling with her own, his hands carding through her hair as he pinned her to the large sofa, his hips grinding against hers.

Tywin moaned softly into the kiss, the delicious friction driving his mind wild with lust. Shaking his head to clear it, he pulled back and lifted Arya up, into his lap as he brushed her dark hair to the side, his lips trailing butterfly kisses along the curve of her neck. Arya purred, running her small hands across his shoulders.

Tywin tugged at her robe, pulling it aside as he tugged at the hem of her nightdress, his hands moving to caress her pale thighs, his calloused fingers teasing her soft pink lips, making her moan as she buried her face in his shoulder.

Another knock at the door brought an angry hiss from Tywin. “Get out or I’ll kill you.” He roared over his shoulder, face livid, as the door opened, and his younger brother entered. 

“I have urgent news, brother.” Kevan Lannister said, looking tense. 

“I’m busy,” Tywin stated irritably. 

“It’s an emergency,” Kevan replied. 

“Come back when it’s a catastrophe.” Tywin snapped. 

“Tywin…” Arya said, grinning as she pulled her robe closed, looking up at him from the sofa.

“Oh, very well. Out with it.” Tywin said, turning to face his younger brother as he pulled a throw pillow over his lap, causing Arya to giggle softly.

“It’s your grandson, Joffrey. He’s dead.” Kevan said, shoulders slumped.

Tywin jerked around on the sofa to face his younger brother, as Arya sat up, surprised and looked at them both, struggling to suppress a grin. She hated Joffrey with a passion, but he was Tywin’s blood and cheering at a time like this would be somewhat improper, even for her.

“Seven hells,” Tywin swore, before jumping up, all thoughts of his young lover driven from his mind. “How many people know about this?” He asked, sweeping a hand through his hair.

“Not many. We thought it best to tell you first, given the err…nature of his death.” Kevan replied with a grimace.

“How exactly did he die?” Tywin asked, worriedly.

“He was killed by a…whore in one of Baelish’s brothels. It seems he became a little too rough and she panicked.” Kevan said, glancing nervously at his elder brother. 

Tywin’s face turned stony, his opinion of whores and brothels all too well known. “Where the hell was his Kingsguard?” He asked, voice cold as ice and eerily calm.

Arya backed away nervous. She had only seen her lord this angry once, back in Harrenhal, when he had caught her touching herself. He disapproved of lechery, debauchery, and drunkenness.

“Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount were assigned to watch him, but they were in a separate room, drinking and bedding whores as well. They didn’t arrive until after he was already gone. They found the girl trembling in the corner, bleeding and covered in bruises.” Kevan said, inching slowly towards his seething, elder brother. He reached out, gently placing a comforting hand on Tywin’s arm.

“Take them to the dungeons. Have the silent sisters tend to his body then have him transported to the Sept of Baelor. I’ll deliver the news to Cersei myself.” Tywin said quietly as they walked out of the room.

“And the whore, what of her?” Kevan asked.

“The same fate as our father’s whore,” Tywin said, walking away.

Kevan nodded and rushed to obey his brother’s order, all too eager to get away from Tywin when he was in this mood.

Tywin turned, walking down the corridor connecting the Tower of the Hand to the Red Keep. Striding through the halls he entered Cersei’s chambers. He didn’t bother knocking since she would most likely be asleep at such an early hour.

Walking into his daughter’s bedchambers he found her passed out on the bed and clutching an empty wine glass, several empty bottles of Arbor gold strewn about the floor of her chambers. Tywin seethed, seeing red as he turned and walked back to the door, opening and loudly slamming it.

Startled, Cersei bolted upright and looked around blearily, mind foggy with the aftereffects of the wine. Spotting her father standing in the doorway, she hastily brushed her hair out of her eyes and focused her gaze on her father.

“Father, w…what are you doing here?” She asked, nervous as he fixed a glare at her.

“I must say, you’re in fine form as usual. Between your lout of a husband and your recent behavior, it’s no wonder Joffrey turned out the way he did. I have some terrible news, Cersei. Your son is dead.” Tywin said.

“Dead…my son…what do you mean dead? What happened?” She said, the fog clearing as fear and panic set in.

“Your son Joffrey was murdered by a whore he had been fucking in one of Petyr Baelish’s brothels,” Tywin said an angry glare in his eyes as he gazed down at his daughter.

Cersei jumped out of bed, racing forward with tears in her eyes. “I…I have to go to him.” She said.

Tywin blocked her path, glaring. “You’ll do no such thing. If we don’t handle this situation correctly, it’ll be a disaster for us all. Not to mention the reaction of the Tyrells when they learn the manner of your son’s death.” He said.

“But he was my son. I must see him.” Cersei sobbed.

“He was a bastard born of incest between you and your brother. If the two of you weren’t my children, I’d run you both through myself. As it is, he was still the King.” Tywin said, shocking Cersei who backed up, the fear and panic in her eyes more than enough to confirm what he had just said, his worst fears coming true.

“Joffrey will be laid to rest in the crypts beneath the Sept of Baelor. After the funeral, Tommen will be crowned king and will join Sansa and Tyrion at Casterly Rock as their ward. Sansa will be a better mother to the child than you ever were. And you, Cersei, will proceed immediately to the Iron Islands to wed Balon Greyjoy.” Tywin finished speaking.

“W…what? N…no. I won’t. You can’t.” Cersei protested.

“If you’re not on the ship by sundown tonight, your body will be found in the slums of Flea Bottom come morning. I suggest you start packing.” Tywin said in a voice so terrifying Cersei felt as if all her worst nightmares had come true at the same time. Turning, he walked away heading towards the Tower of the Hand, to get a handle on things before everything blew up in his face.

TBC

Author’s note. I thought long and hard about this chapter as it would hold some key events. I still have a use for Tyrion, so I don’t want him fleeing to Essos. As for Joffrey, well his days were always numbered. I just thought this end suited him given how he treated the whores in the videos. The ending for Cersei, well she would never have gone away quietly after her son’s death. It was a bit harsh, I believe, but I never really liked her. Still, this is certainly not the last we will see of her. There will be more drama from her to come. As for Jaime, I haven’t decided yet. I have read the reviews and I do plan to do something productive with him. Just not sure what yet. I’ve received several requests for a marriage between Tywin and Arya. I do plan to have Tywin make a serious commitment to Arya, but I won’t tell you when or how it will come to pass.


	9. Abducted

Robb Stark paced backed and forth in Riverrun’s great hall in a fury, fuming, his hands clenched into tight fists. Barely two hours ago, he and his lords had been celebrating Roose Bolton’s victory over the Ironborn and the retaking of Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy had been captured alive according to the reports, but there was no news of his brothers who had been in Winterfell at the time. According to the latest raven from Roose Bolton, his armies were already on the march again. All around the room, long trestle tables were still strewn with the remains of the unfinished feast that was now long forgotten. Robb ran a hand through his auburn curls and swore under his breath.

They had been drinking and laughing, toasting to the positive turn the war had taken when suddenly one of the castle guards came rushing into the great hall, panting and bowed, delivering the awful news that the Kingslayer was gone. The goaler had gone in to deliver his meal for the day and had discovered the gate open. Inside the guard room, three hunched over figures lay motionless in pools of blood. Moving quickly to investigate, he found the Kingslayer’s cell empty.

Furious, Robb called an end to the feast and ordered the castle searched top to bottom in case the Kingslayer was still in the keep somewhere. The Northern lords and the ousted lords of the Riverlands fled the hall, hurrying to begin the search for the Kingslayer. Looking up, he paused midstride as the Greatjon came in, alongside Edmure Tully. The pair bowed low, before standing and looking serious. 

“Urgent news, Your Grace. The Lannister army is attacking the castle in full force. Their catapults are hurling huge stones against the gates, and their forces scale the walls. If we don’t act fast, we’ll be overrun.” The Greatjon boomed.

“Shit.” Robb muttered darkly.

“We need to get you to the safety of the Twins, Your Grace. Your mother and the Queen have already left with a squad of guardsmen under the command of Lord Glover.” Edmure said urgently.

“What about the Kingslayer? Where is he? Has he been found?” Robb asked, swearing under his breath.

Edmure and the Greatjon shared a glance before facing their king. “He is among the Lannister officers leading the attack on the castle, Your Grace.” The Greatjon said.

“FUCK!! How the hell did he escape his cell?” Robb asked angrily as he walked towards the walls of the keep intent on overseeing the defense of the castle.

Following behind him, Edmure and the Greatjon grimaced. “We assume someone from the feast snuck out and down to the dungeons during the changing of the guard and broke him out.” Edmure replied.

“You assume?! Do we have any idea who it was?” He yelled, standing on the battlements looking out over the battlefield.

Nearby Stark and Tully bowmen fired volley after volley into the night sky, the arrows landing on the charging Lannister soldiers below while the foot soldiers threw back the siege ladders, Lannister soldiers plummeting to the ground below. No matter how many they threw down, more simply took their place.

Suddenly beyond the walls a war horn sounded and riding up along the hill on the back of a large brown charger, Ser Edwyn Frey appeared, the armies of House Frey marching behind him. The sigil of House Frey fluttering behind him in the midday breeze.

At first relieved, Robb Stark felt his hope shatter as behind the marching soldiers, in a large metal cage, drawn by two horses, he saw his mother and wife chained and gagged, Lord Glover bound tightly and tossed over the back of a mule like a sack of flower, following behind the pair.

Robb swore, cursing the faithlessness of the Freys loudly as beside him his lords turned to face him, worried looks on their faces as they waited for his instructions. “Your Grace, what should we do? They have taken your wife and mother prisoner.” The Greatjon said.

“We must hold out for now. Send a raven to Barrowton. It should get there in time to reach Lord Bolton. Tell him he must come south as quickly as possible. Tonight, when the sun goes down and they are exhausted from the battle, we’ll raid their camps and rescue my mother and wife.” Robb said, looking at each of them in turn.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Tywin stood at the docks in Blackwater bay, surrounded by a squad of Lannister guardsmen. Beside him, Tyrion and Kevan stood silently. Despite repeated objections, threats and desperate pleas, Cersei Lannister had been forced to board the Silver Wind, a large vessel bound for the Iron Islands and Balon Greyjoy. The alliance was official. House Greyjoy had declared for Tommen.

Turning, Tywin headed back to the Red Keep, the others following behind. He had overseen the preparations for Joffrey’s funeral and the nobles loyal to the Crown had gathered in King’s Landing. The funeral would be held tomorrow morning followed immediately by Tommen’s coronation in the Sept of Baelor. The High Septon would place the crown on Tommen’s head and declare him King of Westeros.

Tywin sighed, recalling the encounter with the furious Tyrells that morning. They were outraged by Joffrey’s behavior, though he noticed they hadn’t seemed overly distraught by his death. The oaf, Mace Tyrell had insisted that since Joffrey was now dead, Tommen be offered as a replacement to keep the alliance intact.

Tommen was still just a boy, but the alliance was important to both parties and Lord Tyrell insisted the wedding take place as soon as possible since all the preparations for the wedding were nearly complete. Tommen was too young to consummate the marriage, but the Tyrells insisted it wouldn’t be too much of an issue. There would be plenty of time for that in the future.

The wedding of Tyrion and Sansa would take place in two days in the throne room. Lord Tywin had paid a small fortune to the Faith to have the High Septon personally officiate the wedding. He was determined to make the marriage a binding contract so that no one would be able to dispute the legitimacy of their claim on Winterfell and the North.

Given his son’s reputation, he was certain the consummation would be an easy affair. After the wedding to the Tyrell girl, Tommen would be traveling west to Casterly Rock in the company of Tyrion and Sansa who had agreed to foster the child while Magarey would remain behind, in the maiden vault, with her father and brother. Loras had taken to his new role in the Kingsguard surprisingly well and Mace Tyrell had been given a seat on the Small Council.

Cersei had neglected Tommen and Myrcella both, choosing to spend all her attention on Joffrey and Robert Baratheon had never paid them much attention, as a result Tommen and Myrcella had both lacked stable parental figures in their lives. Myrcella was safe in Dorne under the guardianship of House Martell, accompanied by Ser Aerys Oakheart of the Kingsguard. Tommen remained ensconced in the Red Keep with his Septa and his cats. Tywin worried about the boy sometimes. Without sound guidance there was no telling how he would turn out, but Tywin believed that if anyone could instill proper virtues in the boy it was Sansa Stark.

Tywin strode through the halls of the Red Keep, making his way towards the throne room. Walking in, he climbed the steps before settling carefully onto the Iron Throne as four gold cloaks escorted the two disgraced Kingsguard members into the hall, forcing them to kneel before the throne. The pair had been stripped of their armor and were clad loosely in the woolen shirts and breeches they had worn under their armor, their boots taken away. They knelt barefoot and dirty before the throne. Tywin studied them, ignoring their feeble protests.

“Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard. You stand accused of willfully neglecting your sacred duties by allowing your king to be killed on your watch. Further you have dishonored the vows you made before the gods by bedding women of ill repute. How do you answer the charges?” Tywin called from the throne, face a mask as he gazed down at the pair of them.

“My lord, we can explain. We had escorted His Grace to the brothel as he ordered us to do, and when we arrived His Grace ordered us to leave, so he could…be alone with the girl.” Ser Meryn said desperately.

“Aye, my lord. We were simply obeying His Grace’s orders. We were sworn to obey him.” Ser Boros supplied weakly.

“And did His Grace order you to indulge in wine and bed whores while he was being murdered?” Tywin asked, furious. 

Ser Boros opened his mouth to speak when Tywin interrupted him.

“Did neither of you think to take up posts outside the door in case you were needed instead of disgracing yourselves with women of ill repute?” Tywin asked, casting the pair of them an angry glare, his voice furious.

Ser Meryn and Ser Boros stammered weakly, trying to find a suitable reply. Disgusted Tywin shook his head and turned to Ser Ilyn Payne who stood waiting next to the throne, his great sword held in his hands. Tywin had taken the sword, Ice, shortly after returning to the capital.

“The sentence is death. Ser Ilyn Payne, do your duty.” Tywin said standing from the throne as the gold cloaks dragged the struggling Ser Meryn and Ser Boros from the hall and out into the courtyard of the Red Keep, Ser Ilyn Payne following behind.

Tywin returned to his solar, his mind racing. The Kingsguard was severely reduced. Ser Aerys Oakheart was in Dorne with Myrcella. Ser Balon Swann had returned to active duty in the capital alongside Loras Tyrell and Osmund Kettleblack, whom Tywin had yet to deal with. Boros and Meryn were now dead, and Jaime was still in the Riverlands.

He would need to think about who to replace the two with, but it would have to wait until Jaime returned and could officially swear them in. That was one of the duties of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

Tywin entered his chambers closing the door behind him. Tired, he settled into a chair at his table, and poured himself a glass of wine, downing it in one go. It had been a long day so far. Looking around he noticed Arya’s absence. Arya had taken to riding in the Kingswood with her sister. Worried for their safety, Tywin had assigned a pair of Lannister guardsmen to be their permanent escort whenever either of them left the Tower of the Hand. Sighing, Tywin headed into the bedchamber he shared with Arya and kicked off his boots before laying down, intent on a short kip.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Arya bit her lip, leaning forward in her saddle, the wind blowing in her dark, shoulder length hair. Beside her on a gray mare, Sansa urged her mount faster, the pair of them laughing as they raced each other. A short distance behind them, easily keeping pace, the two Lannister guardsmen followed, keeping a careful watch on their charges.

Suddenly Sansa’s horse whinnied, rearing up and tossing her from the saddle. Startled, Arya pulled on the reins of her horse, urging it to a stop before jumping from the saddle. Behind them, their guards dismounted rushing over to where Arya knelt beside Sansa who lay on the ground, motionless but unharmed. She had a bump on her head and had lost consciousness, but Arya was certain she would be alright.

Turning her head, Arya saw Sansa’s horse floundering on its side in the grass, a pool of blood forming, a large steel cross bolt protruding from its chest. Panicking, Arya jumped up and drew needle just in time to see her guards draw their swords as a group of men, dressed in the rough, dirty clothing and mismatched armor of bandits emerged out of the trees, charging the two guards. Arya stood and raised needle, intent on helping when she felt something solid meet the back of her head and her world went dark.

When she woke, the sky was beginning to darken. Beside her on the ground, her two guardsmen lay dead. Panicking, she rose on unsteady feet, searching for her sister, but Sansa was nowhere to be found. Stooping, Arya picked up needle. The remaining horses had been stolen so she was forced to make her way back to the Red Keep alone and on foot.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

“My lord, my lord please wake up. It’s urgent.” A servant said, desperately as he tried to rouse Tywin from his bed. Startled awake, Tywin sat up, instantly worried by the fact that one of his servants had the audacity to barge into his chambers and attempt to disturb his sleep.

“What is it? What’s so important that you had to wake me?” He asked angrily. “What more could possibly go wrong today?” he briefly wondered. The servant bowed as he faced his lord, worried about the news he would have to deliver.

“There was an incident in the Kingswood. While they were out riding, bandits ambushed Lady Arya and Lady Sansa was abducted. The two guards who escorted them were both killed.” The servant said, voice laced with fear.

“Oh gods no.” Tywin thought, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “How long ago did this happen? Where is Kevan? Send search parties into the Kingswood immediately. Find them. And beg the gods, the Stark girls are unharmed.” Tywin said, shouting.

“My lord. The lady Arya is here. She came back on foot with a head injury. Grand Maester Pycelle is tending to her now. Ser Kevan has already ridden into the Kingswood to direct the search and rescue parties, my lord.” The servant said, glancing at his lord.

Tywin’s shoulders visibly slumped in relief as he raced out of the room, rushing off to the hospital wing where Grand Maester Pycelle and other royal maesters tended to members of the royal court. Pushing open the doors of the Hospital Wing, Tywin entered, making instantly for the bed where Arya sat.

Tywin raced towards the bed, sitting and pulling Arya gently against his chest as he looked her over, fear and relief battling in his chest as he cradled her in his arms. “She’s alive and safe. I haven’t lost her.” He thought as her short arms wrapped around him and she cried into his chest.

Tywin held her, rocking her gently in his arms as he tried to comfort her.

“My sister. Sansa, they took her. I couldn’t protect her.” She said, tears in her eyes as she looked at him. Tywin swallowed, doing his best to reassure her.

“We’ll get her back, I promise. I have people out searching for her. They’ll find her, I promise.” He said as he brushed away a tear from her cheek. He kissed her forehead and she buried her face against his chest, sniffling softly.

Tywin held her, rocking her in his arms. At times it dawned on him how young she still was. He prayed this incident would end well and her sister would be unharmed. He didn’t want to think about the effect it would have on his little wolf if they couldn’t rescue her sister in time.

TBC


	10. Punishments and Proposals

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones, nor do I make money from this story.

Chapter 9

Kevan stumbled into the Tower of the Hand, tired, dirty and disheveled. The search parties had scoured the Kingswood for 18 hours straight, determined to leave no stone unturned. So far, they had found nothing but an abandoned campsite and a trail of hoofprints leading away towards the West. The Gods only knew who had taken the Stark girl or where she was now. Stopping outside his brother’s solar, Kevan knocked on the door and waited, dreading the report he was about to give.

Tywin had spent the past half hour pacing back and forth in his office. Stopping for a moment he ran his hands through his thinning hair as he often did when he was troubled and no one was around to see. Several reports had come in but none of them were promising. A knock sounded on the door of his solar and he looked up.

“Yes. Who is it?” He asked loudly.

“It me Kevan.” Came the reply.

“Enter.” He called, looking up as his brother Kevan stepped into his office.

“Please tell me you have good news to share.” He said looking at Kevan.

“Well, …we found an abandoned camp near the path where the Stark girls had been known to ride. We think that whoever ambushed them had been lying in wait for them to pass by.” Kevan said.

“I see. Anything else?” Tywin asked.

“They must have known the girls liked to ride out in the mornings. Tywin, this was no coincidence. It was planned. They’ve got an inside man.” Kevan replied quietly.

“A spy? In our household? Who would dare betray our house?” Tywin swore, resuming his pacing.

“There’s more, Tywin. They left a trail leading Northwest, towards the Reach.” Kevan said, casting a worried glance at his brother.

“The Tyrells? Would they really be so bold as to abduct a Lannister bride?” Tywin thought to himself. Turning he looked at his brother. “Who else knows about this?” He asked.

“I found the trail myself. The only people with me were loyal soldiers sworn to House Lannister.” Kevan replied.

“Good. Make sure they keep their mouths shut. We can’t afford to hurl accusations at our allies right now when the war is still going on and the realm is unstable.” Tywin said, turning to sit at his desk.

“But Tywin, what if they really did take the Stark girl? You yourself said Lord Tyrell was plotting to marry Sansa Stark to his heir. What if they decided to steal her away to the Reach? She is one of the most eligible ladies in Westeros.” Kevan said.

“If they were behind the abduction why would they make it so obvious by leaving a trail to the Reach? What if someone else is behind the abduction and intends to pit us against our allies and create chaos?” Tywin asked.

Kevan paled, disturbed at the notion. “A traitor at court? Do you really think so?” He asked.

“Why should one more surprise us? Besides, we clearly have someone in our household who tipped off the kidnappers. I want you to investigate everyone here at court who knew the route the Stark girls took when they rode out into the Kingswood. Begin with our own servants and bannermen here in the Tower first. And get Varys to help you. If anyone can ferret out a traitor it’s that wretched spider.” Tywin said before standing and heading towards his chambers as Kevan rushed to carry out his brother’s instructions.

Tywin walked into his bedchambers, pausing in the doorway he looked to Arya, laying fast asleep in the bed. She had been out of sorts when her sister was taken. Despite her head injury, she insisted on joining the search. Tywin relieved at having her back, safe and sound, refused to let her leave his side to return to the Kingswood. Furious, she had yelled and cursed at him. Tywin wasn’t one to tolerate this sort of behavior, but he made an exception in her case.

He told her to rest first and promised that if she agreed to eat something to build up her strength first then he would allow her to join his brother in the search. While she sat in the bed in the hospital wing, Tywin had quietly instructed a servant to lace her food with dream wine.

When the dream wine took hold, Tywin carried her in his arms back to the Tower of the Hand and carefully tucked her into bed. He pulled a chair over to the bed and sat, watching over her as she slept. Sitting there, he began to slowly nod off.

He had been awake for a day and a half straight, and it was starting to wear him down. His eyes drifted closed and his chin came down to rest against his chest, sleep taking hold. Nearby, Arya stirred, moving to sit up in bed, she slowly gathered her wits. Turning she saw Tywin asleep in the chair. Shaking her head, she stood and threw a blanket over him.

Now that she was a little calmer, she was able to think clearly. She realized there was nothing more that she could do, that Ser Kevan and the search parties couldn’t. They knew the Kingswood better than she did. She knew Tywin was only thinking about her wellbeing, but she was still upset at him for tricking her.

Leaving the bedchamber, she walked into the parlor and picked up her favorite book from the shelf before returning to the bedchamber. She curled up on the bed, reading to take her mind off her troubles, while Tywin slept. She had been reading for a few hours when a knock came at the door. Standing she walked to the door and opened it. At the door, Kevan stood, now dressed in a clean tunic with the Lannister sigil and a pair of breeches. He smiled at her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Have you found my sister? Where is she?” Arya asked, desperate for good news.

Kevan shook his head sadly, facing her as her hopes shattered. “We found a trail left by the kidnappers. We are following up on a few leads, Lady Arya. I promise you’ll be kept informed.” He said gently.

Arya sniffled, blinking back tears as she turned and walked back into the bedchambers, throwing herself onto the bed.

Startled by the noise, Tywin woke up and looked around. Spotting his brother in the doorway, he stood casting a glance at Arya before leading the way into his solar, Kevan following behind. The pair entered the solar and Tywin sat at his desk, wide awake and all business, his face a mask.

“Tell me you have something worthwhile to report.” He said facing his brother.

Kevan sat down in a chair in front of the desk before looking up into his brother’s eyes. “We believe, that is Varys and I, believe that the spy was one of Lady Sansa’s ladies in waiting. A girl by the name of Shae. We have interrogated her, and she confessed, after some persuasion, to tipping off a man she met in a tavern, that the Stark girls were in the habit of riding through the Kingswood each morning. She was familiar with their routes and she had a grudge against the Stark girl.” Kevan said.

“A grudge? Against Sansa Stark? What on earth could she possibly have against the Stark girl? As far as he knew she had always been the model of courtesy and polite behavior, even with her handmaidens. A perfect lady. In truth she reminded him of his late wife, Joanna. Duty and propriety had meant a lot to her. She had always been polite and generous with the servants of Casterly Rock, and they in turn had adored her.” He remembered fondly.

“Has she said who took the girl? Where they went?” Tywin asked, looking to his brother.

“According to the girl, she was one of Tyrion’s paramours. She became furious when he told her of his betrothal to Sansa Stark, and further enraged when he offered her gold to go away. We have questioned her about the identity of the man she spoke to in the tavern, but she claims not to know him. According to her, he approached her in the bar. He charmed her and bought her drinks, pressing for information about the Stark girls. She told him all she knew, and he left shortly afterwards. Varys’s birds are scouring the city for information, and the gold cloaks are rounding up all the men in King’s Landing who match the description the girl gave, for questioning.” Kevan said.

“Lock the girl in a cell for now. Once we are sure she has told us all she knows, Ser Ilyn Payne can execute her.” Tywin said.

“No! That bitch is mine. I’ll be the one to kill her for betraying my sister.” Arya swore, pushing open the door and barging into the room, clutching Needle in her hand.

Kevan jerked around to face her, and Tywin shut his eyes, breathing deeply before looking at her. “What do you think you’re doing, eavesdropping on my private meetings? Put that sword away right now.” Tywin said angrily, eyes flashing as he looked at Arya.

“You’re discussing my sister’s abduction. I have every right to listen in.” Arya said defiantly, glaring at him.

Tywin stood from his desk before turning to face his brother. “Kevan, would you excuse us? I want you to start interrogating the suspects the gold cloaks have rounded up. Come back when you have something.” He said.

Nodding Kevan excused himself and left the room, leaving an angry Arya and a seething Tywin behind. When the door closed, Tywin fixed his gaze on Arya as he walked around the desk. Sensing his mood suddenly change for the worse, she backed up slowly, Needle falling from her grasp and clanging against the stone floor. Turning she tried to run, but Tywin caught up to her in two quick strides. Picking her up he carried her back inside before setting her down, bending her over the desk in his solar, easily blocking her feeble attempts to escape.

Pinning her down, he tugged her breeches down, along with her small clothes, leaving her naked from the waist down. 

“Apparently you need another lesson, girl.” He said angrily.

Remembering her last punishment, Arya began to panic, shaking her head and pleading with him. “I’m sorry, my lord. Please let me go.” She begged as he raised his hand, bringing it down hard on her upturned rear, bringing tears to her eyes as she tried to squirm away. “At least he isn’t using the belt this time.” She thought as he delivered blow after blow to her backside. 

Remembering the events that followed her last punishment, Arya felt her body heat up aroused by the pain and the memory of the last time her lord had punished her in this manner. She felt a twinge of excitement racing through her as she recalled the first time her lord had made use of her mouth. She whimpered softly, her hips bucking, pushing her backside against his hand as her arousal grew, the dampness building between her legs as she yearned for her lord’s embrace.

Tywin paused, looking at her as she squirmed, angling her rear so his blows landed easier. She moaned softly, and he shook his head, stepping back as she sat up on his desk, looking at him. Half-naked on his desk, she parted her legs, a fake pout on her face, his cock twitched. “This is supposed to be a punishment, Arya.” He said looking at her.

“Then make it one.” She smirked.

Tywin lifted her off the desk and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her towards their bedchambers as she laughed. He dropped her gently onto the bed before unfastening his breeches, freeing his cock as he stood in front of her. Leaning forward, Arya stroked his shaft, taking the head of his cock between her lips, she teased her tongue along the tip before taking him deeper into her mouth. 

Closing his eyes, Tywin moaned and gripped the sides of her head guiding her movements as she sucked him, her saliva coating his cock. Pulling out of her mouth, Tywin pushed her onto her hands and knees, moving behind her he sat on the bed, he teased a finger inside her rear, thrusting the digit in and out of her.

“W…what are you doing, Tywin? N…no, not that hole. Wait.” She protested, but Tywin ignored her, yanking her small clothes and breeches off he tossed them to the floor, holding her still as he added a second finger, flexing the digits as he fingered her backside, slowly opening her up for his cock.

Arya squirmed uncomfortable, trying to wiggle out of his grasp but he held her steady, pushing a third finger inside, he shook his head, looking down at her. “I have to make this a punishment, or you’ll never learn, my love.” He said.

Arya made a face, sticking her tongue out at him. Shaking his head at her antics, Tywin moved behind her, rubbing his cock across her soft lower lips, her juices mixing with the saliva on his cock, he pressed the head of his cock against her backside, slowly pushing forward into her rear, as she grimaced slightly, biting her lip as her lord eased himself further into her bowels.

Tywin moaned softly, his hands on her hips. She was so tight, milking his cock, making his head spin and he was only halfway in. Tywin paused, steadying himself before thrusting his hips forward, inching deeper into her. Beneath him Arya gripped the bedsheets, eyes shut tight as she struggled to accommodate this new intrusion. Behind her, Tywin had buried himself to the hilt inside her before stopping allowing her to relax and adjust.

After a few minutes, she relaxed rocking her hips back on his cock, encouraging him to continue. Gripping her slender hips, Tywin took her hard and fast, his hips slamming roughly against the back of her thighs, moaning her name over and over. His mind clouded with lust, he thrust himself into her over and over becoming rougher with her, deaf to her pleas as he took his pleasure from her. Panting heavily, his brow covered in sweat from his exertions, his cock swelled inside her and he grunted as he painted her bowels white with his seed.

He moved beside her on the bed, his breathing returning to normal as Arya curled up against his chest, wincing as she moved. Tywin wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight against him as she pouted. “You could have been a little gentler, you know.” She said, her head laying on his chest, sniffling quietly.

Tywin shook his head, reaching up to brush away her tears. “Ah, but that would only encourage you. Besides I thought you liked it rough.” He replied softly, bringing a crimson color to her cheeks. Arya hid her face in his chest, an embarrassed wine escaping her lips as she swatted his arm.

“You’re such a jerk, Tywin.” She said, pouting cutely.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. But I promise I’ll make it up to you.” He said, tilting her chin up to look at him.

“How?” She asked as she propped herself up on his chest.

“Well, the preparations for the wedding are still in place. The food, the cake, the entertainers, the decorations, the High Septon, the noble families from the Westerlands, everything has been neatly arranged. But with recent events, it will all go to waste, unless…” He trailed off as he looked at her, cupping her chin, his thumb brushing along her lips as she stared into his eyes, comprehension slowly dawning.

“You mean… Tywin are you asking me to marry you?” She asked, a smile slowly forming on her face.

“I am indeed if you’ll have me.” He replied.

“Well, that depends,” She said, a playful grin on her face as she toyed with a strand of her hair. 

“Depends… On what?” He asked, looking at her.

“Will I have to wear a dress?” She asked, making a face.

“Of course.” He said, exasperated.

“Well…I suppose you’re worth it. Fine. I’ll marry you.” She said.

“Gee, I’m glad you could make the extra effort.” He said, rolling his eyes.

Arya giggled softly as Tywin pinned her beneath him on the bed, leaning in and capturing her lips in a kiss. The rest of the night was spent in passionate embraces, kisses, and cuddling before finally, exhausted, the pair drifted off to sleep.

TBC


	11. Lessons Learned the Hard Way

Arya woke up early the next morning, sitting up in bed she stretched and turned looking around the room. With a frown, she noticed that Tywin’s half of the bed was empty, but she heard movement in the other room. Climbing out of bed, she stood and wrapped herself in her robe before walking out of the bedchamber and into the solar. Still sore from last night, she cursed Tywin under her breath but smiled remembering his proposal. She loved him with all her heart. There was no denying that. She couldn’t wait for their wedding the day after tomorrow. It’s was a bit rushed, but she didn’t need a big fuss. Just him.

Tywin was standing in front of an old wooden chest, lost in thought. At the sound of her approach, he turned, smiling and looking at her. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got something for you.” He said holding his arms out for her.

Arya smiled, running into his arms. Tywin hugged her against his chest, his left hand caressing her cheek. He knelt, facing her at eye level and kissed her deeply, before taking her left hand and slipping a gold band set with an amber stone, cut to resemble the face of a roaring lion onto her finger.

Arya smiled, tearing up as she looked at the ring before wrapping her arms around Tywin’s shoulders. “Oh Tywin, it’s so beautiful. Thank you.” She said as he held her.

“I’m glad you like it. It belonged to my mother. My father gave it to her on their wedding day.” He said, looking down at her.

“This means a lot to me, Tywin. Thank you. I promise to treasure it forever.” Arya said nuzzling his shoulder.

Tywin smiled and stood up, leading her to the sofa. Sitting down, he lifted her into his lap and softly claimed her lips, kissing her as his hands tangled in her hair. Arya melted into his embrace, his tongue probing her mouth.

A knock at the door forced the pair to break apart. “Enter,” Tywin called looking up.

Opening the door, the Royal Seamstress entered and bowed deeply. “I’m here to fit Lady Arya for her wedding dress.” She said politely.

Turning to face her lord, Arya grimaced. “Do I have to, Tywin?” She asked sulking. 

Sighing, Tywin nodded, looking at her. “I’m afraid I must insist. It’s an important formal occasion. A tunic and breeches simply won’t do.” He said in a firm voice to forestall any arguments.

Arya stood and reluctantly followed the seamstress to her chambers, where she spent the next three hours selecting the fabric and being fitted for her wedding gown.

Eager to be done with it, she did her best to hurry the process along as the seamstress and her assistants tutted and fussed about her. Finally, she was permitted to go free while the seamstress added the finishing touches on her dress.

Running for the door, she raced back to the tower of the hand. Entering her chambers, she looked for Tywin. On a table by the sofa, Tywin had left her a note. Walking over she picked it up and read.

“Arya, I’ve gone to tend to some small council business. I’m sorry I can’t be there when you get back, but I do have a surprise for you. Go to the conference room you like to practice with your sword in. And please behave.  
All my love, Tywin.”

Curious, Arya went to her bedchamber and fetched Needle before leaving her suite and exiting the Tower of the Hand, heading in the direction of the abandoned conference room she used to practice with needle away from prying eyes.

Opening the door, she walked inside. Waiting for her across the room, a tall man with dark, shoulder length hair, green eyes, and an average build stood, two fencing blades clutched in hand. “You’re late, girl.” He said in a heavy Bravossi accent.

“Late for what? Who are you?” She asked looking curiously at the man before her.

“Jaqen H’gar. Your new Dancing Master. Lord Tywin has hired me to tutor you.” He said, facing her and tossing her one of the fencing blades.

Deftly she caught it and grinned. “Really? That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to start.” She said excitedly, making a mental note to thank Tywin.

Walking forward, Arya and Jaqen moved into a combat stance, raising their blades they began to spar.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Meanwhile…

He sat on a wooden bench in the darkness, arms and legs chained to the wall behind him, mouth gagged. Looking back, he cursed himself for his foolishness. His mistakes had all led up to this. Like a blind man, he had stumbled around, making careless mistakes that had led to his downfall. Breaking his promise to Walder Frey and marrying Talisa had been the first one, sending Theon to Pyke to treat with Balon Greyjoy on his behalf had been the second, his strained relationship with his bannermen over how he treated prisoners and the fact that he had lost Winterfell to the Ironborn, and finally the plan to rescue his wife and mother.

The plan had been brilliant, or so he thought…

(Flashback… The sun was setting in the sky. Around him, his lords and soldiers were strapping on their armor and finalizing the preparations for the raid that would take place later that night. If they were lucky they would achieve two goals tonight.

Once out of the gates, the raiding party, dressed in the livery of Lannister soldiers, would split into two groups. One group, moving on foot would make their way through the enemy camps and set fire to the supply tents, burning everything to ash and therein destroying the enemy’s ability to sustain the siege.

While the Lannister soldiers were distracted by the fire, the second group would sneak into the camp and rescue his wife and mother who were being kept in a makeshift cell on the West side of the camp before returning to the castle to muster the bulk of their forces. Then they would prepare to ride out in force to assault the enemy camp.

Plunged into chaos, their supplies destroyed, the Lannister forces would have no choice but to retreat, leaving the Northern armies free to begin taking back the Trident.

The sun had set, and the Lannister troops had retreated into their camps for the night. Turning to his lords and captains, he issued the orders and the small group crept quietly out of the gates, marching slowly towards the enemy camp. 

Reaching the outskirts of the camp, they approached the sentries and in the dark light and careful disguises they claimed to be soldiers returning from a routine patrol. The ruse had worked and cautiously they rode into the enemy camp.

Passing themselves off as Lannister troops, the enemy soldiers paid them little to no heed as they crept through the camp, locating the supply tent and the makeshift cells in the distance, they split up and headed off in different directions to complete their tasks.

Separating, Robb Stark with his hair dyed blond and clean shaven, led his party towards the makeshift cells where his mother and wife sat bound and gagged. They halted and waited for the signal to begin. Listening carefully, shouts filled the camp as soldiers rushed this way and that.

They waited a few moments more before moving forward. Robb Stark drew his sword, moving quickly to strike down the guards standing watch over the prisoners as Dacey Mormont and the Greatjon followed quickly after him. Dacey clutching a great maul in her left hand looked left and right, while the Greatjon carried a huge broad-bladed battle ax.

After dispatching the guards, Robb retrieved the keys and unlocked the cell before hurrying inside. Quickly, careful not to harm them, he worked to loosen their bonds. “Hush, it’s alright. It’s me. It’s Robb.” He said, loosening his mother’s bonds.

Frantically, Lady Catelyn tugged away from her gag, her eyes filled with tears as she shook her head. “Oh Robb, you shouldn’t have come. It was a trap. They know you’re here.” She shook her head, arms clutching at him miserably.

All around them torches sprang into light revealing Lannister soldiers armed with pikes, swords and heavy crossbows. Robb faltered, dropping his sword as the Greatjon and Dacey Mormont tried to shield him. They were surrounded.

“All hail His Grace, Robb Stark, the King in the North.” Jaime laughed, stepping into the light.

“Kingslayer.” Robb Stark said, his eyes flashing angrily.

“It’s good to see you again. Only this time our positions are reversed. I don’t suppose you fancy that duel now, eh? Arrest them.” Jaime said, walking away.

End flashback)

“Why?” He thought miserably, reflecting on his mistakes. He had won countless victories in the field only to be caught by an underhanded ploy. “Dirty politics and backroom plotting. Father never covered this in my lessons.” He sighed, wringing his hands.

At the sound of footsteps, he looked up. A squad of five heavily armed Lannister guardsmen led by Ser Gregor Clegane himself stood in front of his cell.

Unlocking the door to his cell, they removed the chains binding him to the stone wall before fixing shackles around his wrists and ankles and led him out of the cells and into the great hall where his lords and bannermen knelt chained together. 

Robb looked at them, shaking his head sadly as he was forced to kneel beside them. The North had fallen…

XxxxxxxxxxxX

She paced back and forth, fists clenching her dress as she tried to calm her fears. Her heart was racing, and her head was killing her. Her lovely new dress was now ruined, and she hadn’t seen or heard from her captors in what felt like forever. The only time she had visitors was when the man who had locked her in this room delivered her meals. She had been completely helpless, forced to watch as bandits killed their escort. They had fought bravely but were hopelessly outnumbered. Nearby a tall, cloaked figure had struck her sister over the head with a rock, knocking her unconscious.

Terrified, she had tried to run but the bandits surrounded her, moving quickly to bind her hands before gagging her and slipping a hood over her head. After that, they had led her a short distance away before lifting her onto the back of a horse.

They had ridden, nonstop for hours pausing only briefly to water the horses at a small stream before moving on again. Finally, they stopped, and she was helped down from her horse before being grabbed by rough hands and guided up a flight of stairs. She heard a heavy door creak open before she was pushed inside. A man with a bald head, a thick black beard and dark eyes removed the hood and pulled out her gag. 

Panicked, she looked around. The room was small. There was a single small bed, a chamber pot in the corner, a small table and a wooden chair. There were no windows, so she had no idea where she was or how much time had passed. After removing her bonds, the man left, closing and locking the door behind him. She had banged on the door for hours, calling for someone, anyone to come but nobody answered. Alone and terrified, she moved to the bed and curled up, hugging her arms and legs to her chest as she wept.

A creaking noise sounded as a heavy bolt was lifted out of place and the door opened. Startled, Sansa sat up, wiping her eyes and gazing terrified at the doorway. In the doorway, the same tall cloaked man stood, face covered as he looked at her.

“What do you want from me? Why did you bring me here?” She asked, trying to sound braver than she was.

“Lady Sansa. There’s no need to be afraid. You’re perfectly safe here.” The figure said quietly. 

She knew that voice. Feeling a little more confident she stood slowly. “Hello, Petyr…”

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Exhausted and covered in bruises after her first lesson with her new dancing master, Arya trudged back to the Tower of the Hand, her escort falling into step behind her. Tywin had doubled her guard since the attack and insisted that she always stay close to the Tower of the Hand. She was no longer allowed to go riding in the Kingswood either. She didn’t hold it against him, but she missed the freedoms she once had.

Still, he had surprised her with a new dancing master from Bravos and that had been very sweet of him. It was considered highly improper for women to train with swords for combat in Westeros and the fact that he was willing to overlook this for her meant a great deal to her. Tywin placed a lot of weight on reputation and respectability. 

Entering the suite of rooms she shared with Tywin she had her servants prepare a bath, wanting nothing more than a relaxing soak to soothe her aching muscles. Settling into the large sunken tub, she sighed, resting back against the side, her eyes drifting closed as she enjoyed the water.

“Careful that you don’t fall asleep in there, sweetheart” A voice called. 

Opening her eyes, she smiled, seeing Tywin leaning against the doorway of the bathing room, his eyes shining as he looked at her. She smiled, moving closer to him. 

“Did you have a good time at your lesson, love?” he asked stripping down and joining her in the tub, pulling her against his chest.

“It was wonderful. Thank you so much, my lord.” She smiled up at him.

Tywin smiled, kissing her lips, his hands carding through her hair as they relaxed together in the hot bath.

“How did your dress fitting go?” He asked, eyes shining with amusement. 

She glared at him and swatted his arm. “Jerk.” She said.

Tywin laughed enjoying the moment as she pouted, sticking her tongue out at him. He smiled, his left hand reaching up to caress her cheek, his right wrapping around her hips, pulling her tight against him as he ground his hips against her, eliciting a soft moan from his young betrothed. Arya clung tight to him, nuzzling against his shoulder. “I love you, sweetheart.” He said softly as he gazed into her dark eyes.

Arya smiled kissing his lips as his hands moved to her rear, cupping the round cheeks as she blushed. He grinned and pushed her up against the side of the tub, his hands pushing her legs open as he pressed against her heated core, her small arms wrapping around him.

He moaned softly, reaching down and guided his hard cock between her lips, sliding himself inside her with a contented sigh as she clung to him, her short scrawny legs pulling him deeper into her. Arya rested her head against the side of the tub, clinging tight to her lord as he thrust himself into her, a quiet moan escaping her lips as he hit a sweet spot inside her causing her breath to catch as a wave of pleasure rippled through her. Reaching down, she teased her clit, her mouth dropping open, little moans and gasps of pleasure escaping her lips as her breath hitched in her throat. Her lord filled her so completely, his cock making her feel stuffed, rubbing against every part of her sheath.

Tywin’s hands gripped her slender hips, nails digging into her soft, pale skin as he thrust roughly into her warm, wet hole, the water splashing around them as he took her hard, her walls clinging to him, squeezing down on his cock, milking him. His eyes shut tight as he panted, his hips smacking against her thighs as he slammed deep into her. Arya felt her orgasm approaching rapidly, she pinched and tugged softly on her clit with one hand while the other teased and tugged softly on her hard nipples, her back arching, she cried out cumming hard around her lord’s thrusting cock.

Tywin stiffened, her convulsing sheath milking him, driving him over the brink as he came, spilling his seed inside her, his breathing hard and heavy as he braced himself against the side of the tub, slowly pulling out of his little wolf.

She smiled up at him, nuzzling against his chest as they both came down from their orgasms. The water had started to cool so they hurriedly bathed before climbing out and drying off. They wrapped themselves in fluffy towels before walking into the bedchambers and dressing in their evening wear.

Tywin stood, taking her hand and led her to the private dining hall where they shared a quiet meal, enjoying each other’s company. Later that night they climbed into bed, Tywin hugging her against his chest, his arms wrapped around her middle as they slept.

TBC


	12. Weddings and Betrayals

“Why did you bring me here? What do you want with me, Lord Baelish?” She asked, slightly on edge as she stood facing him. 

There was something about the way he looked at her that she disliked. Something in his gaze that she couldn’t quite read. She wasn’t sure what it was, but something about him made her nervous, putting her instantly on edge whenever she was around him. The way he looked at her, spoke to her, as though he were a spider watching a fly as it landed on its web. It made her shiver, a flicker of fear racing through her whenever he got close, and she fought the urge to shy away from him, worried she would make him angry.

He had visited her briefly in her room over the past couple of days, talking to her but refusing to answer any of her questions. It had started to wear on her nerves, driving her to madness as she wondered what fate he had in store for her.

“My lady, you wound me. I thought you would be grateful to be free of King’s Landing. Free of the Lannisters and their plans for you. They would have forced you to marry The Imp for your claim to Winterfell. The Lannisters would have stolen your home away from you. I’ve rescued you, Lady Sansa. Don’t you see?” He said, never taking his eyes off her.

“What about my sister? Why didn’t you rescue her? You knocked her out and left her there.” Sansa said, a rush of anger filling her. 

Petyr shook his head, shifting his stance slightly as he searched for an answer to soothe her. “I am sorry about that. It was unavoidable. I couldn’t risk taking her. She’s Lord Tywin’s paramour. He would never have stopped until he found her, and we would never have made it this far.” He said in what she assumed was meant to be a reassuring tone of voice.

“Where exactly are we right now?” Sansa asked, looking around the room she had been locked in. She sat back down on the bed and Petyr remained in the doorway, blocking her escape. Petyr paused for a moment before looking around. “The abandoned seat of House Fell, Fellwood.” He replied.

“The Stormlands then. Aren’t the Stormlands pledged to Tommen? Why are we here?” She asked. 

“I bought these lands years ago under an alias after the fall of House Fellwood. I use it as a headquarters and safehouse for my operations in the Stormlands. We won’t be here for much longer. As soon as our escort arrives, we’ll be traveling east, to the coast and then to the Vale and your Aunt Lysa.” Petyr said.

“Operations? What kind of Operations? What exactly is it that you’re planning? Wait…the Vale? Why there? I want to go home.” She said. 

Petyr gave her a smile that made her uneasy and slowly crossed the room, reaching a hand out to her. “All in good time, my dear. Right now, Winterfell is in the hands of the Ironborn.” He said.

“The Ironborn? What about my brothers? Where are Robb and Bran and Rickon?” She asked desperately.

Petyr adopted a sad expression and placed a hand on her shoulder, making her uncomfortable. “I’m afraid your younger brothers are gone. Dead. Your brother Robb is in the Riverlands, which are under siege by the Lannisters. It’s not safe for you to go home right now, but later, I promise to take you to Winterfell.”

Sansa, desperate to return home, reluctantly nodded her head. “Thank you, Lord Baelish.” She said.

“Excellent. Now how would you like to get out and stretch your legs for a bit? It must have been horrible being cooped up in this room for so long.” He said as he held out his hand for her.

“Thank you. I’d enjoy that very much, my lord.” Standing she joined him, forcing herself to take his hand as they left the room together.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Arya stood on a pedestal in her sister’s chambers surrounded by fussing women dashing about the room. She was ultimately on edge; her nerves shot as her handmaidens laced her into her dress. Today was her wedding day. She would finally be marrying her lord.

“You look so beautiful in your dress, my lady. You’ll be the envy of every lady at court.” A handmaiden gushed as she stepped back and held up a mirror.

“I don’t feel like myself in this awful dress. I love Tywin. I’d do anything to be with him, but this isn’t me.” She thought, fidgeting with the sleeves of her gown.

Arya shook her head to clear her thoughts before giving herself a smile in the mirror. She spent the next ten minutes finishing preparations before it was time to proceed to the Throne Room. She took a deep breath and made her way out of the Tower of the Hand.

The walk to the Throne Room in the Red Keep was nerve-wracking. Her heart raced, and her stomach felt like it was tying itself in knots. The closer she got to the throne room the worse it got. Her head was spinning, and she felt dizzy, but finally, she made it.

Reaching the throne room, servants pulled open the massive wooden doors, and she stepped forward. There at the altar stood her lord, dressed in a long-sleeved shirt of crimson silk, lined with golden lion’s head buttons, black satin pants and dark, polished leather shoes with gold laces. Around his neck was a chain of golden hands to symbolize his status as Hand of the King. 

As she walked down the aisle, Arya gazed up at her lord and saw him smiling at her. Instantly her nerves settled, and she felt that everything would be alright as she stepped up onto the altar at his side. They faced each other, Tywin taking her small hands in his as the High Septon stepped forwards.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby see you these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words.”

Having rehearsed this part thoroughly, Arya smiled, and the pair said the words together. “Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his/hers, and s/he is mine, from this day, till the end of my days.”

The High Septon bound a ribbon around their intertwined hands and pronounced them wed as the hall burst into applause. Taking her hand, Tywin led her down from the altar and into the Great Hall. There the entire royal court gathered at the tables as servants passed out the first of seven courses for the wedding feast.

They sat at the high table, side by side, in the place of honor. In the middle of the hall, dancers, jugglers, musicians, and acrobats performed, entertaining the guests of the wedding. Arya sat at the high table, fidgeting in her seat.

She was eager for the feast to end. A northerner, big celebrations were not her thing. She was anxious to leave the hall behind, her attention wandering as she waited for the festivities to end. They had been feasting for over an hour and a half now, and she was growing somewhat restless.

Looking to the left, she saw Tywin speaking to someone a few seats down the table. Lady Shireen Baratheon, the new lord of Storm’s End. She was Stannis Baratheon’s daughter. In return for their submission, the lords of the Stormlands had requested that Lady Shireen be recognized as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands to rule in her own right. Dragonstone had officially been reclaimed by the Crown and would be given to Tommen’s heir when the day came.

Sighing, Arya turned back to watch the entertainment, all the while wondering when it would end. Back at Winterfell she would have thrown food at her sister or caused some other bit of mischief by now, but things were different now. She was married now and expected to behave herself. Like a blow to the gut, she remembered that Winterfell was in the hands of the Ironborn now and her younger brothers were gone.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. To her left, Tywin leaned in whispering in her ear. “Shall we retire for the evening, my lady?” he asked. Relieved she nodded, and the pair stood as the hall quieted down.

“My lords and ladies. I thank you for coming to celebrate the union of my young wife and me, but the night is coming, and we are keen to retire. We shall forgo the bedding ceremony and retire privately. I leave you all to enjoy the night’s festivities while they last, so eat, drink and be merry.” He said.

Relieved that there would not be a fuss, Arya grinned up at Tywin as he took her hand, leading her through the corridors of the Red Keep to the Tower of the Hand as the celebrations continued behind them, the noise slowly dying down as they moved further away.

Arya smiled to herself as she walked beside her lord, her hand in his as they entered the tower, their escort taking up positions outside the entrance to the Tower of the Hand as Tywin stopped just behind the closed door and turned to face her.

Looking up at him she wondered why they had stopped when suddenly strong hands gripped her by the waist and lifted her, Tywin carrying her in his arms towards the suite of rooms they shared, his face a smile just for her as he took her inside.

Tywin gently set her down on the edge of the bed before sitting beside her, his hands cupping her cheeks, he softly kissed her lips. She kissed him back, her eyes drifting closed as he held her, fingers teasing along her jaw as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth.

She moaned softly into the kiss and sucked on his tongue as his hands worked to unlace the stays on her gown, slowly tugging it down, exposing her pale skin. Tywin’s hands roamed across her torso, fingers caressing her soft, smooth skin.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The creaking of the boughs and the sound of the waves woke her from her stupor. Sitting up in her cot, she looked at her surroundings. The small one-room cabin was sparsely furnished, a single chair, a small table to eat at, a chamber pot and the hard-wooden cot with thin blankets that she currently lay on.

The indignity of it all infuriated her. She was the Queen. They had no right to do this to her. Forcing her into yet another unwanted marriage. And to the brutish Iron Islanders of all people. It was unthinkable that soon she would be trapped in the cold north with some wretched old man pawing at her.

Worse still she had been trapped on this galley for days now as they sailed slowly towards the Iron Islands. The rocking of the boat had made her nauseous the first day, forcing her to retreat to her bed, below deck. The journey might have been more bearable had she been able to drink, but her father had made sure there was no alcohol on board the ship. It didn’t take long for the first symptoms of withdrawing to appear. Cersei’s body ached, her mind fuzzy as she dry heaved into the chamber pot beside her bed. 

Over the past two days, she had vomited, shook, shivered and ached, her mind drifting in and out of a stupor as her body worked to purge itself. She had yelled and screamed, demanding wine, but a servant replied there was none. After cursing the unhappy servant, she lost control and had tried to attack him, but he threw her off and fled.

Since then she was confined to her chambers, the door locked from the outside. It opened only so servants could enter long enough to empty her chamber pot and deliver meals that went untouched. She had tried to dash the door a few times, but a second servant, tall and muscular, barred her path, forcing her back.

The sound of the heavy bolt on the door being pulled out of place caught her attention, and she looked up. Standing in the doorway, a Lannister soldier stood and bowed his head. “If you’re feeling better now, my lady, we have docked at Pyke. We will stop at the inn in the village, and there you may bathe and change into a fresh gown before you are escorted to the castle.

“Your Grace,” Cersei snapped, glaring at him.

Startled, the soldier blinked and looked at her. “Pardon, my lady?” He asked, looking at her with concern.

“I am the Queen of Westeros. You will address me as Your Grace.” She snapped shrilly.

The soldier looked at her for a moment, a sneer forming on his face. “Your lord father asked us to make this plain to you before you were escorted into the custody of your new husband. You are not the queen because you are not married to the king. You are merely the Princess Dowager of Westeros. A daughter of House Lannister. You are no longer Grace, but Lady. Your father says you would do well to accept your new role because the Ironborn will not be so accommodating as the people of King’s Landing.”

With that the soldier turned and stepped aside as servants entered to lift her trunk and carry it out while two soldiers in Lannister garb forced Cersei to her feet, grabbing her arms and leading her screaming and struggling from the ship.

“How dare you! Unhand me you filthy dog. I am the Queen. The Queen! Let go of me at once.” Cersei barked shrilly.

Villagers paused, looking up at her as Cersei was frog-marched through the village square, toward the inn where a room and a bath had been prepared for her. Two of Cersei’s ladies in waiting were there with her trunk as the soldiers stopped and waited just inside the room, their eyes averted.

The ladies in waiting quickly stripped Cersei while she fumed and cussed and swore before pointing to the tub. Cersei was tempted to refuse, but when the soldiers started to move towards her, she quickly climbed into the tub as the ladies bathed her, scrubbing her skin clean with linen rags lathered in scented soaps.

An hour later, Cersei was seated in her chamber, dressed in a flowing gown of crimson silk, eating a meal of cheese and hard bread from the dining hall below as her ladies set her hair in a jeweled hairnet. After finishing her meal, she was led downstairs and out of the inn where her escort waited.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Jamie Lannister was seated in a hard wooden chair in the great hall at Riverrun; his eyes shut to block out the noise around him. He had overindulged in wine last night and was now paying for it. Meanwhile all around him, Frey and Lannister soldiers rushed this way and that, carrying out the task of transferring the keep into the hands of Emmon Frey who shouted belligerently at them as they passed by.

Shaking his head, Jaime suppressed the urge to strangle the man. He had arrived only an hour ago, and already Jaime wanted to see the man dead. The only bright spot was that with him came his Aunt Genna. Beside him at the table, his Aunt Genna shook her head.

“Look at that. My lord and master. Bloody oaf. He never could resist the chance to make an ass of himself. And my witless sons are no better.” She spat. 

Beside her, Jaime spared her a comforting glance as his aunt took a sip of wine and shook her head. “I heard the most surprising news on the way here, nephew.” She said facing Jaime. 

“Oh really? Do tell.” Jaime said, trying to ignore the pounding in his head.

“Your father is getting remarried.” She said with a smirk.

Startled, Jaime turned so fast in his chair to look at her that he nearly toppled over, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Married? Father? MY FATHER?” At her nod Jaime fell against the back of his chair, his mind struggling to process this news.

“And he isn’t the only one. Your sister is to marry Balon Greyjoy.” Genna said, taking a mouthful of wine from her glass.

“What?! Cersei is getting married? No. No, that’s not possible. She wouldn’t…” Jaime said softly, his world spinning out of control.

“Oh yes. You didn’t hear it from me, but your father caught her fucking one of the servants and threatened to disown her if she refused. She set sail for Pyke just a few days ago now.”

“Cersei? A servant…fucking. No, it couldn’t be true. His twin would never betray him like that.” He refused to believe it. Shaking his head, he turned to his aunt. “No, you must have heard wrong, surely.” He said, his chest tightening. It had to be malicious gossip by an unhappy servant, he told himself.

His Aunt Genna looked startled and shook her head. “I can’t imagine why Tywin would lie to me of all people about such a serious matter,” Genna said fixing him with a stare.

“Father? Father told you himself?” Jaime asked a twinge of panic rising through him.

“Of course. I was at King’s Landing until we received the news that Robb Stark had surrendered the North and Riverrun had fallen. We set out immediately at my husband’s insistence.” She said, but Jaime didn’t hear her.

Jaime collapsed in his chair, his world falling apart. “The sister he had loved, the sister he sacrificed everything for…had betrayed him. Why? How? Had she always been faithless, and he just never saw or was it a onetime occurrence?” He wondered to himself. Standing he stepped from the table and wandered off, looking for someplace quiet to think.

TBC

Author’s note. In the next chapter, Sansa sets sail for the Vale, Arya and Tywin begin celebrating their honeymoon, Jaime struggles to find his place and deal with Cersei’s betrayal, and Cersei struggles to resign herself to new realities.


	13. Altered Realities and New Beginnings

Jamie cursed with every blow of his sword, his rage radiating off him in waves. He was a mess. His twin had betrayed him, sleeping with another man, possibly men. He swung his sword again and imagined it was Cersei’s new lover. The sword cut deep into the leather causing the straw to spill out of the training dummy and flutter softly to the ground. 

“Damn her. The lying, cheating bitch. I gave her everything. My heart, my silence, my life. I gave up Casterly Rock to join the Kingsguard, at her insistence so I would never have to marry. She swore she would only love me. Choosing to deal with her husband in other ways. The children. My children. She made me stay away from them. I wasn’t allowed to be their father. I never even got to hold them at her insistence. The whore… They were twins. Two halves of the same person but only she had been allowed to have a full life. While he was forced to live a half-life, in the shadows. Forced to watch as another man played father to his children. Children he had never once held,” He thought bitterly to himself as he swung again at the training dummy, this time hard enough to cut off one of the limbs. His sword would likely be ruined but at this point, he didn’t care. He just wanted to drink and drink and drink.

Feeling tired and stiff, his muscles aching, Jaime strode through the courtyard, heading back inside the castle. He had spent the last two hours hacking away at a training dummy, venting his frustrations. He was exhausted, and angry. Bitter resentment towards his sister burning through him.

Entering the keep, he strode through the halls, heading towards the kitchens to find someone who could get him a bottle of wine and a glass. As he strode into the kitchen, he saw his Aunt Genna scowling and speaking to one of the servants in a harsh tone. He hesitated, not wanting to upset her further. She must have sensed him because she turned and smiled, quickly dismissing the servant. 

“Jaime dear. There you are. I wondered where you had run off to. Oh dear, you look all out of sorts. Are you alright?” She asked, fussing over him.

“I’m fine. Really. No need to worry.” He assured her though he was anything but fine.

“You must be starving. You missed lunch dear. Dinner won’t be ready for a few hours but I’m sure we could find you something to hold you over until then,” His aunt said, straightening up.

“I’d rather just have some wine and take a short rest. I’m not that hungry,” He said, trying to forestall her but his stomach chose that exact moment to protest. 

“You wait in the dining hall. I’ll find you something, and don’t even think about running off again,” She said before turning and shouting at the closest servant.

Twenty minutes later Jamie sat with his aunt in the dining hall. Jaime had all but devoured his lunch, only a crust of hard bread remaining as he and his aunt spoke about recent events.”

“And you’re sure we’ll have no trouble from the remaining River lords?” His aunt asked him.

“Not to worry. Most of the Lannister forces will be traveling south to King’s Landing in the morning, aside from a small garrison of one thousand soldiers that will remain stationed at Harrenhal. I will be taking Edmure Tully, Robb Stark, his queen and his mother along with the Northern lords who were prisoners,” Jaime said.

“Hn. I was told the River lords who refused to swear fealty to House Frey and the Crown were executed earlier this morning before we arrived and that the others have been released and allowed to return to their keeps?” She asked, looking him over as he took a sip of his wine.

“Yes, that’s right,” Jaime said as he set his glass down.

Very well then. Now perhaps you can tell me why you left so suddenly earlier. I was worried for you.” She said fixing him with a penetrating gaze.

Jaime considered his aunt for a moment and sighed. “Sorry, I suppose it was just a lot to take in. Father getting remarried, Joffrey dead and Tommen King and Cersei…Cersei getting remarried.” He said swallowing thickly.

“I can well imagine. You were so young when your mother died. The news that Tywin planned to remarry was a tremendous shock to me as well, and such a young bride as well.” She said, shaking her head.

“Young? Who is my father marrying?” Jaime asked.

Genna shook her head and laughed. “You’ll never guess in a million years, so I’ll tell you plainly. Arya Stark. Lord Eddard Stark’s youngest daughter.”

Jaime gaped; his shock evident. “The Stark girl? But she’s still a child, isn’t she? I saw her once in Winterfell two years ago. She can’t be more than thirteen or fourteen by now. What is father thinking?” he asked, looking askance at his aunt.

“Oh, I can well imagine what he is thinking. Besides it’s not uncommon for most highborn girls to be married off at the age of twelve so it’s really not that big a deal.” Genna said, shaking her head with a laugh.

Jaime shuddered, the image she painted playing in his head. “But this is my father. Surely…” Jaime shook his head at a loss for words.

“Grow up, Jaime. Your father has been alone for a long time. He deserves a little happiness.” Genna said.

Jaime stood, bidding his aunt good night and farewell and retired to the chambers set aside for him to sleep.  
XxxxxxxxxxxX

Sansa sat on a wooden bench at a trestle table, in the dining hall at Fellwood, picking lightly at her food, not feeling very hungry. Petyr had taken her on a tour of the castle, spending most of the morning talking to her and soothing her fears. Their escort, half a dozen knights of the vale and several men at arms led by her Aunt Lysa, had arrived around noon and they were due to set out for the coast at first light the next morning. Shortly after their arrival Petyr had excused himself to visit with Lysa, leaving Sansa all alone.

Sansa had been shocked to see how her aunt had swooned at the sight of Petyr, fawning over him and giggling like a school girl all afternoon. She was even further surprised to see how cordially they interacted despite not being wed yet. She wondered idly whether she would be allowed to attend their wedding. Petyr had introduced her as his bastard daughter Alayne Stone to their escort. The look her aunt had given her sent shivers of fear down her spine.

Wandering through the empty halls of Fellwood, Sansa paused briefly and sat down on a bench in a nearby alcove, to reflect on the events of the last few days. A voice broke her out of her reverie and startled Sansa looked up. Standing in front of her was a musician who had accompanied her Aunt Lysa from the vale.

“Hello, my lovely lady.” He said, nodding his head, his gaze fixed on her cleavage in the low-cut southern gown that had been procured for her. The musician, dressed in crimson and black silk garments, stared at her another moment, making her increasingly uncomfortable.

“Oh, um hello.” Sansa stammered, unsure how to respond and hoping he would go away but the musician smiled sweetly and sat beside her, leaning in close to her and making her even more uneasy.

“Hello, Alayne. I’m Marillion. Musician and confidant of Lady Lysa Arryn.” He purred, in her ear as he placed his hand on her arm, his hot breath on her skin. Shrinking back, Sansa tried to stand and move away but Marillion placed his hand out in front of her, blocking her path.

“Don’t be shy, lovely. I won’t hurt you. We could be good friends you and me. I know for a fact that bastards are among the most depraved of people. We could have a lot of fun together. Open your heart to me, sweet lady.” He purred softly as his free hand settled on her rear, causing her to jump.

“I happen to be a maid, and I’ll thank you to let me go at once,” Sansa said forcefully, indignation and fear marring her features.

“Oh, a maiden. How lovely,” Marillion said breathlessly, his other hand moving to her breasts. “Give me your maidenhead, my sweet. I’ll prove an excellent first for you. No other man shall please you like me,” He said as Sansa backed away, terrified.

Suddenly a rough hand seized Marillion and jerked him back. Sansa looked up and saw the bald man with the dark beard standing there with an angry expression on his face. “The lady isn’t interested. If I find you bothering her again I’ll have your balls cut off.” He growled angrily, shoving Marillion aside.

“Lady Lysa shall hear of this. You’re just a servant. You can’t treat me like this. I’m a trusted confidant and favorite of Lady Lysa, the Regent of the Vale.” Marillion said, indignantly before storming off. Sansa let out a relieved sigh as the man turned to face her.

“Lord Baelish would like to speak with you in his solar. Follow me.” He said and started off towards the Lord’s solar, glancing back briefly to make sure she was following, leading her through the twisting corridors.

“Thank you. For rescuing me, I mean.” She stammered as they walked together.

“Think nothing of it. Lord Baelish asked me to keep an eye on you, so it was merely my duty.” He said not looking at her.

Reaching the solar, he knocked and motioned her forward when Petyr called for her to enter, before excusing himself and walking away. Stepping inside the solar, Sansa looked around. The room was dimly lit, candles scattered about here and there and a roaring fire in the fireplace. Seated on a sofa near the fireplace were Petyr Baelish and her Aunt Lysa.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

 

Arya moaned softly as Tywin’s hands teased her nipples, tugging gently on the rapidly hardening nubs. Her eyelids fluttered as her body grew hot, her breath catching in her throat. She leaned into his touch as her hands reached down working the laces on his breeches, reaching inside her small hands closed around his cock, softly caressing the hard shaft eliciting a moan from her lord as his cock jerked in her hand.

Growling softly, Tywin pushed her back on the bed, his rough hands making quick work of her gown, tugging the silk garment away along with her small clothes as he captured her lips, his hands moving up and down along her body, admiring the still-developing curves as he moved beside her on the bed.

Arya looked up at him, her dark eyes clouded over with lust as he gently pushed her legs open, hands softly caressing her bare thighs, his fingertips teasing the smooth skin. Tywin trailed soft kisses along her jaw, moving to nibble softly on her earlobe, his breath hot against her skin, drawing a shuddered breath from her.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her skin flushed, body on fire as his lips moved down along her neck, nuzzling, kissing and nibbling softly there, his fingertips teasing the dripping lips of her sex, her hips arching off the bed, pressing against his hand, desperate to fill the aching emptiness inside her.

Trailing butterfly kisses across her skin, Tywin moved down, pressing soft kisses to both of her nipples before capturing one between his lips, sucking and chewing softly on the hard nub, eliciting a soft cry from her lips as her fingers carded through his thinning hair, holding his head in place.

Tywin gently parted her soft wet lips, easing a finger inside her dripping sheath, the digit thrusting in and out at a torturously slow pace. Frustrated and in need, Arya buck her hips against his hand, soft gasps and moans escaping her lips while Tywin teased her, quickly withdrawing his hand when she got close, making her whine.

Smirking, Tywin moved to the other nipple, repeating his ministrations as his hands fondled her rear, squeezing and smacking the firm globes, as he gently ground his knee against her sex. Moaning and breathless, Arya whimpered, looking at him with pleading eyes. “Please Tywin. I can’t take it. I need more.” She begged.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

The carriage rolled to a stop inside the courtyard and a few moments later the door opened, revealing her guards. Cersei took a hand that was offered and stepped out of the carriage, getting her first look at the drab, gray castle that was Pyke.

Disgust welled up inside her as she looked around at the inhabitants of the castle dressed in gray woolen cloth. There was little about the people or place that could be called colorful. Their dress and appearance reminded her of the peasants in Flea Bottom and she sneered.

The servants walked past her, going about their duties without so much as a bow in her direction. “Things would most certainly have to change once she settled in here. She would have this place running properly in no time.” She decided to herself.

Striding across the pavement, Cersei barged her way into the castle, her escort hurrying to keep up while carrying her trunks. Looking around the interior of the castle Cersei felt her disgust rise. There was little in the way of flair. The furnishings were spartan, made of simple wood, stone and base metals. 

Spotting a servant walking by, Cersei snapped her fingers, waiting for the servant to come to attention. To her frustration, she ignored her and continued about her business. In a shrill voice, Cersei shouted, “Servant, come here.”

Pausing, the girl looked around before turning to face Cersei. “My name is Yara Greyjoy, you dumb bitch. I’m no one’s servant.” Yara snapped back, offended by Cersei’s attitude. The people of the Iron Islands had a very poor opinion of the Mainlanders, finding them weak and spoiled.

Gaping, Cersei stood tall, a glare marring her features as she gazed down at Yara. “I happen to be Cersei Lannister, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” She said. “I demand you show me at once to my chambers, so I can settle in. And have some wine sent up for me while you’re at it.”

Laughing, Yara shook her head. “Find a servant and make your own way to your chambers. And we don’t drink wine in the Iron Islands. We drink ale. If you want some you’ll have to wait until dinner is served in the great hall.” She said, sneering up her nose at Cersei.

“You can’t honestly expect me to dine with servants.” Cersei scoffed. 

Scowling up at Cersei, Yara replied, “Those servants are brave Ironborn and each is worth a dozen of you filthy mainlanders.” With that Yara stormed off, leaving Cersei standing alone with her trunks, her escort having departed while she was arguing with Yara.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Running through the forest, chest heaving, covered in mud and dirt, Ramsay paused bracing himself against a tree as he looked around to see where he was. He heard dogs barking and men shuffling through the woods a short distance behind him and set off running again, breathing heavily.

“Damn! They are getting closer.” He realized. He needed to put more distance between himself and his pursuers. Running faster, his strength waning fast, a bow twanged, and a sharp pain hit him square in the back, forcing him to his knees, his vision swimming from the pain.

Slow, quiet footsteps behind him signaled the approach of his pursuers. Suddenly his head was jerked back. Staring down at him, a knife in hand, he saw the storm gray eyes of his father staring down at him.

“Goodbye, my son,” Roose Bolton said in his normal cold and calm voice, and with a quick movement, he slit his son’s throat before letting him fall to the floor, gurgling quietly as the life drained from him. Walking back to his men, he faced the group. “Let’s go, boys. The hunt is done.”

Mounting their horses, the Bolton army set out. As he rode, Lord Bolton looked to the left. Bound and gagged, tossed over the back of a mule was Theon Greyjoy. Exiting the Godswood, Roose Bolton and his host rode up over a small hill, the walls of Winterfell appearing in the distance.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Looking up, Lysa smiled. “Sansa dear. Come here. Petyr told me everything. Oh heavens, it’s such a relief to see you unharmed and well.” She said, reaching out her arms for Sansa. Feeling relieved and happy at being reunited with a relative, Sansa grinned and rushed forward into her aunt’s arms, hugging her fiercely, tears springing into her eyes. 

Lysa soothed her, rubbing her back comfortingly and hugged her back. “There, there, sweetling. It’s alright. You’re safe now. I promise. Soon we’ll all be safely away from here and on our way to the Eyrie. You can stay there until it is safe for you to return home.” Lysa said, trying to comfort her.

“The Eyrie? What about my mother and Robb? They’re in the Riverlands. Can’t I go to them?” Sansa asked, wiping her eyes. 

At the mention of Catelyn, anger flashed across Lysa’s face and she frowned angrily but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced with a sad look as Lysa hugged her tighter.

“The Riverlands have been conquered by the Lannisters. They are now under the control of House Frey, and your mother and brother are prisoners of the Kingslayer.” Lysa said, causing Sansa to relapse into a fit of sobs.

“There, there. It’s alright. Petyr is working on a plan to return you to Winterfell. You’ll be safely home before you know it. And it won’t be so bad at the Eyrie. Trust me.” Lysa said.

Sniffling softly, Sansa looked up at her. “Really? I can go home?” She asked, sounding relieved.

“Soon, sweetling. Trust me. Everything will be alright.” Lysa said, patting the spot beside her and Sansa sat. She, her aunt and Petyr spent the rest of the evening, talking about their plans and what to expect at the Vale, hoping to soothe her fears.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Moving aside, Tywin knelt at the foot of the bed, dragging Arya to the edge, he leaned in, softly kissing and nibbling the backs of her thighs, his left hand cupping her rear, the fingers of his right teasing gently across the soft lips of her slit, her juices coating his fingertips as she moaned, propped up on her elbows, her fists clenching the sheets.

“Damn it, Tywin. Don’t tease me.” She growled, reaching down, her small hands gripping his head, pushing his face against her slit. His tongue swiped across the soft pink lips, teasing them with soft licks and kisses before gently pulling them open, his tongue plunging into her dripping sheath, the velvet muscle thrusting in and out as his fingers found her budding clitoris, teasing the nub between his thumb and forefinger, coaxing little moans and whimpers from her as her hips bucked, grinding against his face.

Tywin sucked and nibbled gently on her clit, replacing his tongue with his fingers in her dripping sheath, the thick digits thrusting in and out of her, fingertips teasing her sweet spot making her hips buck, her body shaking as her orgasm crashed over her. Careful not to hurt her, Tywin teased her clit with soft licks, prolonging her pleasure as she shuddered through a second orgasm, her body falling limp against the bedsheets as he pulled away, moving up beside her on the bed.

Licking his lips, Tywin pressed his fingers to her lips for her to clean. Her breathing returning to normal, Arya took his fingers between her lips, tasting herself as her lord moved over her, her short legs on either side of his waist as his free hand reached down, gripping his hard cock, he stroked himself up and down against her soft, wet lips before guiding the tip to her dripping entrance, and with a thrust of his hips buried himself to the hilt inside his little wife.

Gasping, Arya gripped his shoulders, looking up at him as he thrust himself into her, filling her completely, leaving her feeling stuffed and then empty as he pulled out before thrusting roughly back inside her. She moaned, looking into his eyes as her nails raked against his hips, she pulled him tight against her, loving the feeling of having him inside her.

“Gods yes. Harder Tywin. Fuck me harder.” She panted, her nails drawing blood on his hips as he thrust into her fast and hard, her small hands moving to her chest when he winced, teasing her nipples, pinching, twisting, tugging on the hard nubs. She moaned louder before pushing against his shoulders.

Obligingly, he turned, laying on his back and she straddled his hips, lowering herself onto his hard cock, a sigh of content escaping his lips as she took him inside her again, her hips rocking, she rode him, bouncing up and down on him as his left hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing against her lips, his right teasing her clit, drawing pleasured moans and soft whimpers from her. Darting her tongue out against his thumb, she nipped lightly at the digit, her left hand bracing herself against his shoulders, while her right tugged hard at her nipples, the sensations heightening her pleasure as her orgasm built.

Tywin’s breathing grew heavy. He was close and could tell she was too. Thrusting his hips upward in time with her downward strokes, they both moaned, he leaned up, capturing her lips in a kiss, holding her against his chest, looking into her eyes as their orgasms hit, they both climaxed together. Sweating and breathless they collapsed against the bed, lying in each other’s arms.

TBC


	14. Plots and Violence

Suddenly awoken, Arya sat up slowly in bed. Turning onto her side, she looked out the window. The moon had risen high in the night sky, casting pale light through the window. Dimly she heard one of the bells in the city ring, marking the changing of the hour. Beside her Tywin lay on his side, facing her, fast asleep in bed. Arya smiled as she watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. He was so different asleep than he was awake. He appeared calm and content, happy almost. When awake, he was cold, collected, serious. She found she liked him better this way. He was more real, more human when he was asleep when his guard was down. 

Arya shifted in bed, cuddling up against the pillows beside him, her mind wandering. She was married, to Tywin Lannister. Her beloved Lord was now her husband. It seemed surreal, almost impossible despite all that had happened between them, but the remains of her savaged wedding gown and the crimson wedding cloak with the Lannister lion lay nearby, on the floor, were evidence that it was not a dream, but in fact reality. Tywin had been impatient to strip her and claim her the night before. Climbing out of bed, Arya stretched and crossed to the wardrobe, pulling on a robe before walking out onto the balcony, looking out over the sleeping city below.

Tywin began to stir, sitting up in bed, he blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the sunlight spilling through the window in his chambers. His memories of the wedding and his young bride came flooding back as he looked up, spotting his young wife coming back into the bedroom, his eyes feasting on her small form. He stood slowly, walking over towards her and lifted her up, into his arms as she giggled, her small hands settling on his shoulders. Grinning he carried her back to the bed before dropping her gently onto the furs, his hands quickly untying her robe.

Looking up at him, Arya blushed as his hands settled about her hips, his nails raking across her pale skin, his touch causing her breath to hitch as he knelt before her, his lips closing around one of her nipples, sucking eagerly. She moaned as she tilted her head back, her hands settling on the back of his head, hugging him against her chest. Tywin’s tongue swirled around her nipple, his lips sucking, his teeth gently nipping at her flesh, drawing soft whimpers from her as warmth spread through her, her body heating up, becoming aroused at his touch.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Cersei was furious. She had stood in the entrance hall with her trunks for what seemed like forever, but was only a few minutes, forced to shout and curse for servants to come and help her with her luggage and show her to her chambers. When she finally caught the attention of a servant passing through the entrance hall on his way about his duties, she barked shrilly, demanding that he carry her luggage up to her rooms. When they reached her chambers, Cersei looked around the small, dimly lit and spartan furnishings. There were a single bed, a rough couch and set of chairs, a small table and a trunk at the foot of the bed for her clothes.

Snorting, Cersei turned back to the servant, demanding he find her more suitable chambers, but the servant had already gone, her luggage left behind her, piled on the floor. Cersei let out a loud shriek and collapsed into a wooden chair made from old driftwood and struggled to control her temper. “How could they possibly expect me to live like this? It is absolutely impossible.” She thought.

Shaking her head, Cersei stood and walked across the room, struggling with her luggage, working to unpack her things and settle in herself. Moving around the room, she stowed her things away and stuffed her trunks in the closet, before settling herself on the bed, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She rarely cried but there was nobody around to see now. She hated the gods for being born a woman, for being denied the rights and privileges she knew she rightly deserved, simply because of her sex. She resented her brother, Jaime, for having the good fortune to be male and her father for sending her away into a second nightmare. Angry and resentful, her blood boiling in her veins she vowed to turn this marriage to her advantage. To make them all pay. 

“Balon Greyjoy is a man like any other. I can manipulate him like I have all the others. This won’t be so bad,” She told herself as she wiped her eyes.

Cersei’s stomach rumbled. Starving, she left in search of the kitchens, intent on demanding a private meal in her chambers. Finding her way downstairs to the entrance hall, she wandered through the corridors until she found the kitchens. Pushing the doors open, she walked inside finding the kitchen staff working to prepare dinner. Looking around she found the cook and strode forward, intent on making more demands. Around her the kitchen staff pushed past her as they went about their duties, totally ignoring her as they worked. She glared at them though it did little good and finally caught the cook’s attention.

“What’dya want? I’m busy.” The cook said looking up at her with a scowl.

“I’ve come to arrange for a private meal to be sent to my chamber,” Cersei said, looking annoyed but pushing past it.

“Who’dya think you are?” He asked, not looking at her.

“Cersei Lannister. Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and future wife of Balon Greyjoy,” She barked.

“Fine, fine, whatever.” The cook said, nodding as he pushed past her, fixing a plate of grilled fish and oatcakes and passing it to her along with a mug of ale. “There you go, now get out of my kitchen.” He said.

Cersei left the kitchen and headed upstairs to her chambers, settling in at her table with her meager meal. Tomorrow she would wed Balon Greyjoy and she was dreading it. She had told herself she would never be forced into another marriage, but her father had left her no choice in the matter.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Roose Bolton stood in the courtyard, watching as laborers rushed this way and that, working fast. They were working to repair the damage to Winterfell caused when his late son had set fire to the castle. He had everything he could want now. Wealth, power, vast lands, and the dominion of the North. The respect his House deserved and had been long denied. “Everything will be different now,” He told himself.

That morning a raven arrived from the capital, baring the news that he was confirmed as Warden of the North. In addition to being Lord of the Dreadfort, he was now Lord of Winterfell and Hornwood. He had annexed Hornwood shortly after the death of Lady Hornwood at his bastard son’s hands. Ramsay had locked her in a tower and starved her to death after marrying her for her claim to the lands. Sighing, Roose Bolton shook his head, relieved that the burden of his wayward son was now lifted. He was reluctant to admit it, but he had secretly feared Ramsay. The boy was cold, cruel and ambitious. He had murdered his trueborn son and heir Domeric so he could take his place. An act that Roose might have forgiven since he was his only other living child.

However, that hadn’t been enough for Ramsay. Ramsay, as it turned out, was far too ambitious. Unwilling to wait for his inheritance, he had led a failed coup against his father, setting an ambush for him as he arrived at Winterfell to claim the keep after the fall of the Starks. The plot had leaked out and Roose had turned the tables on his bastard son. Ramsay was captured in the ensuing battle and had been imprisoned until the weather was nice enough for a proper hunt.

He was now the most powerful lord in the North. Just as he had always dreamed. His ancestors would be proud. But now he needed a new heir with the death of his sons.

Settling in at Winterfell, he had considered his options, going through a list of eligible brides from the North and Riverlands. One of the offers was from Walder Frey in the Riverlands, who offered the bride’s weight in silver as a dowry. A fine offer and the money would certainly come in handy with the restoration work he was doing. But he was also in need of a well-born bride who could increase his standing in the North to help make his position more secure and the Freys, while rich were only a minor noble house from the Riverlands. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. A knock sounded at the door and he looked up. “Come in.” He called.

Maester Luthor entered, carrying a scroll. “A letter, my lord.” He spoke, offering up the scroll.

Taking the scroll, he considered it for a moment. A letter from the Wall, judging by the crow sigil, on the wax seal. Carefully, he broke the seal and opened the letter, skimming the contents.

“May I ask what it says, my lord?” the Maester asked.

“It’s a plea for aid, from the new Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Ned Stark’s bastard, Jon Snow. The boy claims that a vast host of Wildlings are marching south, planning to assault the wall.” Lord Bolton said, setting the letter down.

“Will you rally your banners and go to their aid, my lord?” Maester Luthor asked.

Lord Bolton sighed before speaking. “I’ll consider it. For now, our men have only just returned home after our war in the south. They’re tired. Many are injured and they long to be reunited with their families.”

The Maester fidgeted slightly, considering his words carefully. “If my lord truly desires to cement his place as the Warden of the North, what better way to raise your standing in the eyes of the northern lords than by going to the aid of the beleaguered Night’s Watch.”

Lord Bolton was silent for a moment, considering this. “I suppose you do have a point. I’ll consider sending a smaller force to aid them.” Shaking his head, he ruffled through the parchments on his desk, before picking up a response message to a letter he had received a few days back. He reread the contents before looking up at the Maester waiting nearby. I have a letter for you to send. It’s going to the Eyrie. 

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Shortly after dawn, a long column of soldiers decked in Lannister crimson set out, marching south through the Riverlands. Altogether they numbered a little over twelve thousand men. At the head of the column, mounted on a snow-white charger rode Jaime Lannister dressed in black steel armor, banded with crimson leather and golden lion’s heads on his shoulders and a matching crimson cloak, flanked by Stafford Lannister dressed similarly at his left and one of his lieutenants to his right.

They were traveling south along the Kingsroad making their way towards King’s Landing, their prisoners in tow in six heavily guarded wagons, in the middle of the column. Riding alongside the wagons as a guard, was Ser Gregor Clegane dressed in his customary steel armor. Jaime stifled a yawn and looked around at the landscape. “Where are we at right now, cousin?” He asked.

“Just passing the border of the Vale, right now. We’ll cross the border to the Crownlands in the next couple of days if we maintain a fast march,” Stafford replied.

“Can’t come soon enough. I intend to get shitfaced drunk when I get back.” The lieutenant to Jaime’s right said.

Just at that moment a loud horn sounded and from over the hills to their right, thousands of knights and men at arms charged forward from both sides, under the banner of House Arryn. “Shit. It’s an ambush.” Jaime swore as he drew his sword.

Turning about to face them, the soldiers in the column drew their weapons and prepared to meet the enemies charging at them from both fronts. Arrows whizzed past from all directions as soldiers fell, right and left, screaming as the projectiles found purchase between gaps in their armor.

Racing forward, towards the wagons, on a black charger, a tall man with graying hair and a short-cropped beard, the blackened trout emblazoned on his shield marking him as none other than the Black Fish himself. Brynden Tully cut down Lannister soldiers left and right as he made his way forward, towards the wagons guarded by Ser Gregor Clegane, an angry yet determined look in his eyes. This may well be the death of him but there was no way he was going to allow his kinsmen to be paraded through King’s Landing before being executed by the Lannisters.

Ser Gregor drew his massive broadsword, wielding it with one hand, his free hand reaching out and grabbing unwary enemies by the throat, choking them to death with his immense strength as his sword hacked and slashed on the other side, uncaring of whoever got in his way, be they friend or foe. Charging forward, flanked by various lords and knights of the Vale, the Blackfish confronted the monstrous Gregor Clegane as nearby a squad of crossbowmen armed with carefully designed armor piercing bolts fired at him. They were determined to put an end to him and free the last remaining Starks.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Rushing through the halls of Fellwood, servants worked to make sure everything was packed and ready. They were to set out for the coast in less than an hour and Sansa was given the task of supervising the efforts. They couldn’t leave any traces of their presence behind. Sansa stifled a yawn and shook her head. She had gotten little sleep last night as Petyr and her Aunt Lysa had made so much noise last night, coupling in their bed. Rather it was Lysa who made so much noise. Gods but that woman could scream. They had delayed their journey to the Eyrie for two days so that a hurried wedding ceremony could take place in the Sept at Fellwood last night between the pair, with a proper ceremony to follow upon their arrival at the Eyrie.

Marillion walked past, pausing to leer at her before continuing his way to the stables to ready his horse, another gift from her Aunt Lysa. Sansa couldn’t figure out why her aunt would favor the likes of him. He was a bully and a whoremonger. He had tried once again to corner her as she left her aunt and Petyr after their reunion two nights previous, but once again Petyr’s henchman had come to her rescue, even escorting her to her room last night. She couldn’t be sure, but she believed that Petyr had ordered him to follow her in secret, to keep an eye on her. She wasn’t sure whether she should be comforted by that or not.

Finally, the small group set out on horseback for the coast with Petyr, Lysa and Sansa riding along in a small carriage. Petyr and Lysa laughed and joked, trading intimate kisses while Sansa turned her head, looking out the window, wishing it would end, so she could leave them to their own business. When they reached the coast, they boarded a small merchant vessel that had been hired to sail them to the Vale. The journey across the Narrow sea to Gulltown would take a few days, provided the conditions were favorable. Sansa sat at a small table in her cabin, mind drifting back to a time before she had traveled to King’s Landing before the King had come to Winterfell. 

She and her family had been so happy back then and now she wondered why she had been so desperate to escape it all, desperate for an end to what should have been a time of joy for her. The sound of a knock on the door to her small cabin snapped her out of her thoughts and she looked up, seeing Petyr standing in the doorway, smiling at her. He crossed the threshold, moving to sit beside her. He placed his hand on her arm, causing her to stiffen slightly before she forced herself to relax.

“Hello, Petyr,” She said.

Petyr gave her what she supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile. “How are you feeling, Sansa? I understand sea travel can be a bit rough for those who are unaccustomed to it. You should see that ridiculous singer of Lysa’s. He hasn’t stopped vomiting since we left the docks,” Petyr said with a smirk.

Sansa smiled despite herself. “I’m fine, Petyr. Really. I just have been thinking a lot about my mother is all. I wonder how she is. And Robb.” She said eyes downcast slightly.

Petyr gently patted her arm and nodded. “I’m told they're unharmed. They were taken prisoner by the Lannisters but are being treated well. I will do all in my power to find and rescue them. I promise you, Sansa, everything will be okay,” He assured her. With that he stood and left, leaving Sansa to her thoughts.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

He sat there, crouched in his hiding spot behind the grill in the empty fireplace, watching and waiting for his chance. It had taken hours of sneaking through the dark network of tunnels despite having been given the full layout by his employer before he found the right fireplace. He had arrived in King’s Landing the day before after a long and harrowing journey. Once his employer was satisfied, he had memorized all the necessary details, he had smuggled him inside the Red Keep and set him to his task.

Finally, the pair collapsed on the bed, quickly falling asleep in their bed after hours of passionate embraces. He waited another fifteen minutes, to be sure then quietly slid the grill aside and crept through the dark interior of the room, drawing his dagger as he moved towards the bed. Seeing his target, laying next to his young bride, the man swore under his breath. “How dare he defile a maiden of House Stark.”

His orders were to kill Tywin Lannister and rescue Arya Stark, sneak her back through the passages and out to the small hidden dock, delivering her to his employer who would deliver her safely to her mother. He crept to the side of the bed, his dagger held high. He slashed with the dagger just as Tywin Lannister stirred, awakened by a beam of light peaking through the window. The figure swore, bringing the dagger down hard, embedding it deep in Tywin’s side, causing him to cry out in pain. Nearby, Arya jolted awake at the sounded and spotting the intruder shouted for help as she charged at the masked figure, stopping him before he could land a finishing blow on Tywin.

Several Lannister guards rushed in, drawing their swords as they went and apprehended the masked intruder, stopping him before he could cause more harm. “Thank the gods, we’re safe. Are you alright, Tywin? Tywin…?” Beside her, Tywin lay unconscious in a pool of blood. “Help! Somebody help!” Arya shouted.

 

TBC


	15. Losses

“Help! Somebody help!” Arya shouted.

Arya screamed and sobbed, refusing all efforts to console her. “He is not going to die! He can’t die. He’ll be alright. You’ll see.” She snapped, glaring at the Lannister soldiers and maesters rushing about the chamber. 

Her face was streaked with tears, her skin pale. Arya stood up and rushed over as Kevan Lannister walked into the room, a grave look on his face as he considered his brother, unconscious on the bed. 

“How is he?” Kevan asked her, but it was Tyrion who responded.

“Pycelle says that the blade missed his vital organs, but the wound is deep, and he lost a lot of blood. He lost consciousness and Pycelle says that given his advanced age, he is unsure when or if he’ll awaken.” Tyrion looked at his uncle for a moment.

“Did you find out anything? Was the knife poisoned? Who was he? Who sent him?” Arya asked, interrupting the pair.

Kevan shared a look with Tyrion who nodded his head. Turning to face her, Kevan replied, “We haven’t yet determined who he was or who sent him, but we have run what tests we could on the knife and given the nature of the assassin we’re reasonably certain the knife wasn’t poisoned. Tywin’s fate lies in the hands of the Seven now.”

Arya looked at him for a moment, chewing her bottom lip. “Given his nature?” What does that mean? Do you know who he is then?” she asked.

Kevan considered her for a moment. “Some of the Lannister guards who apprehended him recognized him from their time in Harrenhal. It was one of King Robert’s bastards. A tall lad, strong too. Dark hair and blue eyes.” 

Gasping, Arya stifled a sob. “Gendry…” she breathed. 

Exchanging looks, Kevan and Tyrion considered her. “Do you know the boy then, my lady?” Kevan asked.

Nodding, Arya replied, “We were traveling companions until we were taken prisoner and brought to Harrenhal. I never imagined that he would do something like this though. How did he get inside the tower?” She asked.

“We’ll go confront him with what you’ve told us, my lady. For now, try and calm yourself. I’ll have Pycelle bring some dream wine.” Kevan said before leaving, Tyrion following closely behind. 

Outside in the hall, Tyrion turned to face Kevan. “A traveling companion? Perhaps he was trying to protect her. Still, she raised a good question. How did he get so far inside the Red Keep and penetrate the Tower of the Hand?” Tyrion asked.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

The day had come at last. Her dreaded wedding to Balon Greyjoy. Cersei swallowed her fears, determined not to let them show. About her in her chambers a few ladies’ maids bustled about, finishing the final preparations for her wedding. They had dressed her in what could hardly be called a gown. A simple affair of grey and blue linen. It wasn’t much but it would have to do, she supposed, since it was the custom for weddings in the Iron Islands to take place on the banks of the ocean, where their drowned god dwelled.

Once finished they left her alone with her thoughts for a few minutes until a sharp knock on the door broke her out of her stupor. Stepping forward, Cersei opened the door. Standing there was Yara Greyjoy, dressed in her custom blue attire. She nodded and looked to Cersei. 

“I see you’re ready. Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.” She said, holding out her hand for Cersei. Taking her hand, Cersei followed Yara through the corridors to the entrance hall and out along a narrow path leading through the keep, towards a small sandy beach.

Waiting at the shore, stood Balon Greyjoy in his long grey robes, surrounded by his bannermen and one of the drowned priests. Yara led her to the banks of the ocean where Balon and the priest joined her. The priest bound their hands and they recited their oaths before the drowned god. The wedding ceremony done, they were led back to the Great Hall of Pyke where they enjoyed a feast of grilled fish, stews and fresh baked bread and ale. The hall was filled with boisterous laughter as they all took their seats, servants passing out platters of food and pitchers of ale. Seated beside Balon Greyjoy at the high table, Cersei felt her stomach churn, completely on edge. “Dear Gods. How am I to get through this?” She anxiously wondered.

After the feast, when everyone was drunk, the feast ended as the hall filled with shouts. “Bed. Bed. To bed with them. Time for the bedding.” 

Cersei shuddered, swallowing as her nerves frizzed, her mind a tumble, her stomach twisting itself into knots. Had she managed to eat anything, she might have been sick. Standing, she let the men carry her off to the lord’s chambers, while the women led Balon Greyjoy away. Arriving at the bedchambers the pair were stripped and tucked into the bed, the curtains drawn as they crowded around the bed.

Turning to lay on her back, Cersei closed her eyes, praying it would end soon. She tried to will herself away inside, as Balon Greyjoy moved over her, hands pushing her thighs open.  
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Roose Bolton sat in the great hall at Winterfell, the ancient seat of House Stark. The direwolf sigil had been removed from nearly every surface of the holdfast, replaced with the flayed man of House Bolton. Sipping his Hippocras, Roose surveyed the men gathered before him. The prisoners bound before him were the last of the Iron Islanders still in the north. They had been rooted out of Moat Cailin by Theon Greyjoy on Ramsay’s orders, shortly before his death. There were about forty of them, bound and forced to kneel. Roose considered them for a moment, trying not to breathe too deeply. 

They were a ragged, filthy lot. Mostly sick, injured and weak soldiers that the main force had abandoned when they returned to the Iron Islands. “It appears the Crannogmen have made sport of a few of them,” He briefly thought, recognizing some of their maladies.

They smelt like they hadn’t bathed in weeks, which they probably hadn’t. Roose thought for a moment, before speaking, voice completely void of any emotion. “You have been charged with invading the North, raiding its towns and villages, kidnapping, killing and raping innocent people. As punishment for your crimes, you will each be castrated and placed on a ship to sail back to the Iron Islands.” He said, ignoring the desperate pleas and begging of the Iron Islanders as his men closed in around them, dragging them off to the keep outside.

After they were led away, Roose Bolton turned to face the man standing to his left. “Maester Luthor, I have decided to go to the aid of the men of the Night’s Watch. I will lead a small force of 5,000 Bolton men to the wall to assist Lord Commander Snow in driving off the Wildling forces advancing South. I want you to dispatch riders to all the surrounding villages to conscript troops.” 

The Maester bowed low, his heavy chain clanging. “As you wish, my lord.” He replied.

Still not finished, Lord Bolton continued to speak. “While I’m gone, you will manage things here at Winterfell in my absence. Forward any vital messages to me at the Wall.” The Maester nodded his head in reply, once more.

Turning, Lord Bolton addressed the Steward to his left. “I want you to begin stockpiling supplies, weapons, food, horses, wagons, etc., in preparation for the campaign.”

The steward bowed low and nodded. “Of course, my lord. I shall prove worthy of your trust.”

Walking off, Lord Bolton left the hall to gather his things. Walking through the upper corridors, he ignored the servants who scattered at his approach, hastily disguising angry glares. “So, what if they didn’t like him. Few people did. So long as they obeyed him. He may have to remind them at some point who was in charge but for now, he’d let them be,” He decided. Reaching the Lord’s chambers, he pushed open the door, stepping inside.

Walking inside, he crossed the room heading towards the large wardrobe to select some of his warmer clothing for the journey. It was sure to be much colder at the wall than here in Winterfell. Searching through his closet he pulled out several thick woolen shirts and a few pairs of breeches, his cloak lined with wolf fur and a pair of thick fleece lined gloves. Closing the closet door, he crossed the room again, intent on stowing the clothing into a small trunk at the foot of his bed. Upon opening the trunk, he paused, setting the clothing on the bed before sitting. Reaching into the bottom of the trunk he pulled out a small silver pendant. Opening the clasp, he started as he saw the face of his first wife. Heart panging with grief at her loss, he closed the locket and dropped it back inside the trunk.  
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Jaime hastily surveyed the situation, studying his enemies. “Soldiers from the Vale.” He realized. Swearing under his breath he set about, preparing to meet the enemy head-on.

Nearby his captains rode up and down behind the men, issuing orders, the officers and troops hastily moved into formation, panicking as the sudden enemy onslaught hemmed them in. 

“Steady, steady. Don’t panic, men. Push them back!” A captain shouted. 

Turning to face his cousin, Jaime tugged on Stafford’s arm. “Listen, there are only a few thousand of them. They don’t have enough men to withstand a real battle. Their goal is to free the prisoners. Take your men and go to reinforce Ser Gregor’s troops.”

Nodding, Stafford Lannister turned to obey, but paused and looked back over his shoulder. “What about you, cousin? You’re still not fully recovered from your time in Riverrun’s dungeons. Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asked. 

Jaime laughed and nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’ll lead things here.” He said. With that Stafford left and Jaime turned to face the enemy. Grabbing his horse’s reins with one hand and wielding his sword in the other, Jaime rode out into the fray, sword swinging and slashing, parrying blows and cutting down enemies as his horse reared, kicking out at any enemy that got too close.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

The Blackfish advanced, his broadsword in one hand and his shield in the other as he pivoted, ducking a swing of the Mountain’s massive sword, his shield moving quickly to block an arrow from one of the Mountain’s archers. Nearby his bowmen fired missiles at the Mountain, that was deflected by his heavy armor. He ducked another blow by the Mountain and turned intent on attacking him from the side but the Mountain roughly pushed past him in a rage, heading for the bowmen who quickly scattered. Taking advantage of the distraction, the Blackfish rushed him from behind, aiming a blow for a weak point in one of the Mountain’s exposed knees. The hard steel sunk deep into flesh as the Mountain howled in fury and pain, lashing out around him with his sword.

Brought down by the pain of his injury and the weight of his armor, the Mountain stumbled, falling to one knee on the ground as the Blackfish closed in, the Mountain’s men now frightened away, fleeing at the imminent defeat of their leader. The Mountain swung out with his sword, but the Blackfish, with some effort, managed to parry the strike, knocking the sword away. He raised his blade ready for the deathblow when a loud voice shouted and made him pause.

“Hold there, old man. I shall fight you now.” Stafford Lannister roared, his men following up behind him as he raced forward to block the Blackfish’s attack and reinforce the Mountain.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Jaime was breathing hard, sweat dripping into his eyes as he parried a blow from one of the Knights of the Vale. The lad had some skill, he grudgingly admitted. Had he been fully recovered from his ordeal in the dungeons of Riverrun, he would have been able to make quick work of the lad. Exhausted and reaching his limit, Jaime did his best to remain calm as he blocked a vicious thrust from the lad’s sword.

“Nice try, kid. But you’re going to have to do better than that. Even on my worst day, I’m still leagues above you, fool.” Jaime taunted him, hoping to make him angry so he’d slip up.

The lad said nothing, his jaw set firmly as he glared at Jaime, refusing to take the bait. He rushed forward, following up his thrust with a slash to the right but again the Kingslayer managed to block him.

“Come on, kid. Surely you can do better than that.” Jaime laughed, easily dodging him when a nearby Lannister soldier stumbled into him while busily engaged in his own fight, causing Jaime to lose his balance. Swearing and reaching out to blindly to right himself he screamed as a sudden blinding pain shot up his left arm. He looked down, seeing a bloody stump where his hand had been. Swinging out blindly through the pain, he landed a lucky blow against the kid who had been just as surprised by his lucky blow as Jaime. The lad fell dead on the soft grass and Jaime fell to his knees in agony, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his stump.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

The Blackfish swore under his breath, turning to face his new opponent as the Knights of the Vale rushed to take on the enemy reinforcements. The battle was raging fiercely, Stafford Lannister’s youth and speed making up for the Blackfish’s skill and experience. Further up the column, a horn sounded and the Lannister forces cheered, having driven off the enemy soldiers. Cursing them, the Knights of the Vale retreated dragging the Blackfish along behind them before the now victorious Lannister troops could turn their attention towards them. Regrouping, the Lannister forces took stock of their losses. None of the prisoners had escaped but they had lost over 200 men and dozens more were wounded along with a number of their horses. Most devastating of all was Jaime Lannister.

Stafford Lannister rushed back to the front of the column, spirits soaring in his victory only to pale when he saw his cousin. Jaime Lannister, sat perched on a camp stool, a Maester bandaging the bloody stump where his off hand once was. Jaime swore under his breath, ducking his head as his cousin approached. 

“Dear gods, Jaime. What happened?” Stafford asked, kneeling beside him and unstrapping his helmet.

“Its nothing. I just wasn’t quick enough and my opponent landed a lucky blow.” Jaime replied though he didn’t appear quite so confident now. 

“But Jaime, you’ve lost your hand…” Stafford said. 

“So, I’ll just use the other hand. It’s nothing.” He said.

TBC

Author’s note. In the next chapter, we’ll learn the fate of Tywin. Jaime recovers in King’s Landing. Sansa arrives at the Eyrie. Roose Bolton arrives at the Wall and meets face to face with Jon Snow. Lysa and Petyr learn of the Blackfish’s actions during their absence. And Cersei…well, you’ll either sympathize with her predicament, be indifferent or continue to hate her. Either way, Cersei will always be a villain in this story, but in the next few chapters, we’ll see her trying to influence her new husband for good or ill.


	16. Life Goes On

Author’s note: I would like to thank everyone who has followed my story.

Chapter 15.

Arya sat stiffly in the chair close to Tywin’s side, watching over him as he slept. She had refused to leave his side for even a moment over the last two days since he was attacked, fearful that something would happen to him. She was plagued by fears that he would take a turn for the worse or that someone else would break into the tower and try to kill him. Clutching needle at her side, she vowed to watch over him as he slept. Despite Pycelle’s reassurances that he would make a full recovery, she still had feared he would die. 

Pycelle had assured her he would be fine in time, but he had yet to wake up, and she was worried that he never would. The prospect filled her with a terrible sense of dread. With her family out of reach now, she would have been all alone again if Tywin died.

Vaguely she heard Syrio’s voice in her head. “What do we say to death?” The voice asked.

“Not today,” She reminded herself.

Attempting to relieve her fears, Pycelle had assured her the reason he hadn’t woken up yet was that they had been dosing him with dream wine while they watched over his wound. He would likely wake up soon since they had stopped administering the potion last night. She was relieved, but she still had a nagging fear that something could go wrong. She told herself that she was silly, that Pycelle knew what he was doing. Yet part of her was reluctant to trust him. Pycelle had been stripped of his position of Grand Maester by Tyrion and Tywin had delayed reinstating him, suspecting the man’s loyalties.

The idea that Pycelle harbored a grudge was not lost on her, despite appearances to the contrary. She had heard rumors of the man. Outwardly, he appeared to be a weak and elderly. his mind as dusty as the scrolls and old tomes he kept in his office. Still, worse was the rumor that he solicited bribes and lay with whores. Tywin had caught him bedding one. Frowning, she recalled her previous experiences with him. He appeared a grandfatherly man but was, in fact, a lecher. Yet another thing that kept Tywin from reinstating him.

“I just have to trust that everything will be alright.” She told herself with a sigh, snapping out of her reverie and glancing once again at Tywin.

Stifling a yawn Arya stretched and gave herself a shake, fighting off the effects of fatigue as her eyes threatened to close. She was exhausted, mentally, and physically, having gotten little if any rest the last two days. She blamed herself for Tywin’s injury, and her guilt weighed heavily on her, not allowing her any peace. Still just as her eyes began to droop and her head lolled, the bed shifted, and Tywin slowly opened his eyes, a quiet groan escaping his lips as he looked around.

“Tywin! You’re awake.” Arya grinned, jumping up and rushing to his side, her exhaustion was now forgotten as she kissed his cheek. Tywin moved to sit up, but Arya stopped him, placing a hand against his shoulder to ease him back down. “Shh, just rest, my lord.” She said, relief shining in her dark eyes.

“Water, please.” He asked in a loud voice, his throat completely dry. 

“Of course, my lord,” She said, pouring him a glass of lemon water from the pitcher on the bedside table and helped him to drink it. Taking the glass back, she placed it on the table before pulling her chair closer to the bed and sat, looking at him.

“What happened?” Tywin asked shifting slowly in bed, wincing as a sharp pain shot through him.

Arya thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully, before looking up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. “You were stabbed by a boy I knew. We were traveling companions before we were taken prisoner at Harrenhal. Please, my lord. He was only trying to protect me. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” She said, now crying.

Tywin reached out, trying to comfort her despite his discomfort. “Hush now. It’s alright, love.” He said, caressing her cheek.

Arya sniffled quietly but slowly cheered up, her worries were forgotten now that she knew Tywin would be alright. She moved closer, perching herself on the edge of the bed, and Tywin kissed her cheek, his lips teasing the corner of her mouth. She sighed and smiled. 

“I’m so relieved that you’re alright, Tywin. I was so scared I would lose you.” She said quietly.

Tywin patted her shoulder comfortingly and kissed her cheek again. “There now, love. I’m fine.” He replied.

The door opened at that moment, and Pycelle entered, followed by Kevan and Tyrion. 

“Ah yes. I thought I heard voices. Good to see you’re awake now, my lord. Please, allow me to check your wound if you will.” Pycelle said, walking toward the bed as Kevan and Tyrion waited to the side.

Arya stood up and moved back as Pycelle rushed over to examine Tywin. He pulled back the blankets to check the condition of Tywin’s wound through the bandages. After verifying that the injury was healing, Pycelle smiled at Tywin and nodded.

“It looks like you’re healing nicely, my lord. I believe you will make a full recovery. Thankfully the injury while deep was not entirely serious. You’ll be sore for a while and will have to remain in bed for the next week or so while your wounds continue to heal, but then you’ll be able to get up and move around to an extent. In the meantime, you should avoid things that cause you stress or anger. Extreme emotions are not good for you at this time.” Pycelle said as he turned to gather his kit.

“You gave us quite a fright, Tywin,” Kevan said quietly as Pycelle packed his supplies and left the room, giving them some privacy.

Taking a nearby chair and pulling it over to the bed, Kevan sat. “I’m relieved you are well, brother. We apprehended the boy who attacked you. He’s in a black cell in the dungeons.” 

Tywin’s face hardened an angry look in his eyes. “How the hell did the boy get inside the Tower in the first place?” Tywin started, but Arya quickly moved to calm him, worried for his health. 

“Calm yourself, my lord. Remember what Pycelle said,” She urged him.

Sighing, Tywin nodded and more calmly asked, “Has the boy said anything about how he got in or who sent him?”

Surprisingly, it was Tyrion who answered. “We believe he entered through a grate in the empty fireplace. We investigated and found that tunnels and hidden passages lead all through the walls of the Tower. So far, however, the boy has said nothing of anyone hiring him, or who led him to find the passages.” Tyrion said, face calm.

“I want those passages explored carefully, and every entrance sealed up. Interrogate all the Tower staff, Tyrion. Kevan, I want you to find out what the boy knows. Do what you have to do to make him talk,” Tywin said.

Arya lowered her eyes but said nothing as Tywin spoke. Kevan nodded, standing and leaving to carry out his task, as Tyrion did the same.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

The distance from Winterfell to the Wall was not great, but with Winter in full swing and the heavy snows pouring down the journey had been a rough one. Still, being Northerners, they were more than used to the biting cold, although that’s not to say they weren’t thrilled to arrive at the Wall. Roose Bolton rode through the gates of Castle Black at the head of his host, before coming to a stop in the courtyard where a steward was waiting to take his horse. Dismounting his horse, he passed the reins of his steed to the boy and looked around as a voice called out to him, coming closer.

“Welcome to Castle Black, my lord. The Night’s Watch wishes to thank you for coming to our aid during these trying times.” Jon Snow said formally, coming to a stop a few feet from Roose Bolton, his hand held out.

Roose Bolton silently considered him for a moment before taking his hand in a formal gesture of courtesy. “I confess myself surprised that you would come out to welcome us personally, considering the circumstances between our two houses,” Bolton said, looking at Snow.

Jon considered him for a moment, before gesturing about to the brothers walking around, helping the Northern host get settled in. “Look around you, my lord. These are my brothers now. The Night’s watch is my house now. I indeed have mixed feelings about this meeting, but my primary concern is what lies North of the Wall. I have no claim to Winterfell. My duties lie here. I choose to no longer concern myself with the affairs of the realm,” Jon said as he led the way up inside the castle to the Lord’s solar. 

Sitting in his chair, he motioned to an old cushioned seat near the desk. “I’ll have my steward bring wine and food for you while we talk,” Jon said, as Olyvar turned and left, heading for the kitchens. 

“How bad is it really, Lord Commander Snow?” Roose Bolton asked, turning serious, once Olyvar had left. 

Sighing, Jon fixed Roose with a worried look. “The wildlings number nearly 100,000 in total. A terrible host the likes of which we’ve not seen in a long while. Every tribe north of the wall has banded together under a deserter, Mance Rader, who calls himself King Beyond the Wall. Giants, cannibals, hordes of feral animals and thousands upon thousands of fighting men and women too.” 

To his credit, Roose Bolton didn’t flinch, but casually asked, “Their women fight too?”

“Oh, I’m afraid so. They lack the discipline of a real army, but their numbers and ferocity more than make up for it. This lot won’t be easy to beat back. Mance Rader is determined to advance south.” Jon said, solemnly.

“How many men do you have, Lord Commander?” Roose asked, his storm-grey eyes betraying nothing.

“There are barely 400 men left in the Night’s Watch now. We are seriously understaffed, and eleven of the fourteen castles along the wall are now unoccupied.” Jon said, shaking his head.

Roose’s head jerked as he stared in disbelief. “Barely 400? How could that happen? How do you honestly expect to hold the wall with so few men?” He asked astounded.

“Now you see my problem. The Night’s watch no longer enjoys the glory it once did. We have pleaded with the Crown and the Lords of the realm to send men in the past, but they don’t care to help us anymore. Sure, they have only praise for our efforts, but they won’t personally commit themselves to help our cause. We need help, Lord Bolton. There are not enough of us left. The Night’s watch is nothing more than untrained boys and tired old men.” Jon said, sadly.

Roose Bolton shook his head and swore under his breath. “I had no idea things had gotten this bad, although it does explain why there have been more wildlings sighted south of the wall in recent years.” He said before adding, “I shall help you deal with this wildling host, and when this is over, we shall see about restoring the Night’s watch.”

Just then Olyvar returned carrying a tray of food and a jug of wine and placed it on the table before leaving. “If I may ask, my lord, how many men did you bring with you?” Jon asked curiously.

Roose took a sip of the wine before replying, “Only 5,000 men. The North has bled harshly with the recent war. And most of the men are eager to return home.”

Jon shook his head and sighed. “Well, let’s hope it’s enough. Perhaps if you were to write to the other lords on our behalf, they might listen.” He said.

The pair ate the food and discussed their plans until late into the evening before deciding to retire. Jon escorted Roose to the guest chambers that had been prepared for him and then left to retire himself.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

The voyage at sea was finally over, and Sansa was happy to settle in at last. They had survived the steep climb and made it safely to the Eyrie just as the sun started to set. She had been terrified by the climb, and she was grateful not to have to make a return trip back down the mountain for the foreseeable future. Settling into the room prepared for her, Sansa looked around as her servants unpacked everything. Petyr and her Aunt Lysa had already retired for the evening, exhausted by the journey, so she was left alone. After settling in for the night, she changed into her evening wear and wandered over to one of her trunks, taking out a favorite book she had taken from the abandoned library at Fellwood. It was a miracle the library was still there, considering how long the place had been left idle. She curled up on a couch in her room and opened the book, turning to where she had last left off.

XxxxxxX

“What?” Lysa shouted shrilly as Petyr tried to calm her, despite his worries. “What do you mean they left with an army? Without my permission? On whose orders did they dare attack the Crown?” She yelled, terrifying the unlucky steward who stood trembling before her.

“The Blackfish ordered it, my lady. He and the other lords were determined to rescue the Starks and the Northern lords who were taken prisoner at Riverrun. They left ten days ago, shortly after you departed from the Eyrie.” The steward replied, fearfully.

“Where are they now? I want to speak to my uncle immediately.” Lysa demanded angrily.

The steward gulped and replied. “The Blackfish sent a raven. They were defeated in their first bout, but regrouped, intent on pursuing them further south into the Riverlands. Rumor has it, the Kingslayer himself was grievously wounded in the battle. We haven’t heard back since then, my lady.”

Lysa shook her head angrily before turning her back on the steward. “Very well, you’re dismissed. Get out.” She cried, and the steward hurried to leave.

Petyr wrapped his arms around her shoulders, trying to calm her while inside, he raged at the unexpected turn of events before calculating his next step. “Shit! If they are captured, the Vale’s forces will be weakened, and we’ll have earned the wrath of the Crown when we are not yet ready,” he thought to himself.

“Shh, my love. It will be alright. We’ll deal with them when they get back. In the meantime, we’ll write to the Crown and assure them that they were acting of their own volition. No harm will come to you or Robyn; I’ll make sure of it. I promise.” Petyr said calmly.

“Oh Petyr, how can I ever thank you. Being with you makes me so happy. Nothing will ever come between us again.” Lysa gushed as she buried her face in his shirt, sniffling. She completely missed the look of extreme disgust that crossed Petyr’s face as he held her.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

It was an exhausted and battered column of Lannister soldiers that marched through the gates of King’s Landing, heading for the Red Keep. Despondently, Jaime rode on his horse, his head down, eyes closed in pain and shame. He had become what he condemned most. A lame, a cripple. He felt so useless, so worthless. He could barely dress and often had to endure the humiliation of asking his squire for help. With the loss of his hand went his self-confidence.

He was careful to hide it from the others, but he had attempted to compensate for the loss by using his right hand, and the results were devastating. Jaime Lannister, the greatest swordsman in the seven kingdoms, could no longer even manage the most routine tasks without help. Worse still was the follow-up attack by the Knights of the Vale. In their second attack, they had managed to successfully free most of the prisoners as well as devastate the Lannister forces who had not expected a second attack just hours after the first had ended. Most were still exhausted from the previous fight and were unable to put up a proper defense. They had lost nearly 1,000 men in the second attack, and there were almost half a hundred wounded that had to be carried back on carts or wagons.

To make matters worse, Robb Stark, their most valuable hostage, had been killed in the fighting. They had managed to hang on to his mother, Lady Catelyn, and a few of the Northern lords, but the rest had escaped. After entering the courtyard of the Red Keep, Jaime hurried off in the direction of the Tower of the Hand to find his father, leaving his cousin Stafford to deal with the Lannister soldiers. Walking to the entrance of the tower, the Lannister guards stopped him, demanding to know who he was.

“Seven hells, I must look worse than I thought.” Jaime finally convinced them of his identity, and they stepped aside, allowing him entry to the Tower of the Hand. Jaime stepped inside and froze, coming face to face with his Uncle Kevan and brother Tyrion who were delighted to see him.

“Jaime, welcome back. We’re so glad you’ve made it back safely.” Kevan said.

Jaime snorted in derision and held up his stump, a glare on his face. “Hardly a safe return. Look at me. Do I look alright to you?”

Kevan and Tyrion started, rushing to comfort him. “Oh, Jaime, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. What happened?” Tyrion asked.

“We were ambushed on the road. The Blackfish and the Knights of the Vale attacked us twice. We lost over 1,200 men, and scores were injured. Worse still, Robb Stark is dead, and most of the Northern lords escaped. We still have his mother and a few minor lords, but that’s it.” Jaime swore.

“What happened here while I was away? Where is father?” He continued in a more sedate tone.

Kevan and Tyrion exchanged a grim look before turning to face Jaime. 

“Your father was attacked a few days ago and stabbed by an intruder. He is awake but has been confined to his bed. Lady Arya is looking after him right now, but you should go up and see him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you again, Jaime.” Kevan said as the pair excused themselves.

Jaime walked to the door of the Hand’s bedchambers and knocked. “Father, it’s me. Jaime. Can I come in?” he called.

“Jaime, you’re back. Of course, you can come in.” Tywin called, struggling to sit up straight as Jaime entered. Walking inside, Jaime saw his father settled in his bed, the blankets pooled around his waist, and a tray of food beside him on the bed, forgotten as a young girl with dark hair and eyes stared at him.

“Welcome back, Jaime. You look like shit.” Tywin said plainly when they were alone.

Jaime snorted and shook his head. “We were ambushed while…” he started, but Tywin interrupted. “Yes, yes. I know. I heard it all quite well from the other room. Dear gods, Jaime. Your hand. I’m so sorry.”

“Father, you should know something. Gregor Clegane is dead. He was killed in the fighting. We brought his body back with us. It’s down in a wagon in the courtyard. We should send his remains back to his holdfast for burial.” Jaime said, but Tywin shook his head.

“No, I’ve another idea. We need to ensure the loyalty of our allies in Dorne, and there is no better way to do that than to give them the justice they seek. We’ll send Gregor’s head south to Sunspear and let the Martells have it. That ought to please them well enough.” Tywin said.

Startled Jaime looked at him. “But father, he was our bannerman. Is that appropriate?” He asked.

Tywin shook his head and replied. “It’s far from appropriate behavior on our part, but it is, in fact, a smart move. We could settle the feud between the Crown and Dorne once and for all with this gesture.” 

“As you wish, father.” Jaime replied quietly.

“Arya, this is my eldest son, Jaime. Jaime, This is my wife, Arya.” Tywin spoke quietly.

Arya smiled, looking up at Jaime. “I’m happy to meet you, Ser Jaime. I’ve heard so much about you. People say you’re the greatest swordsman in the seven kingdoms. Is that true? I’m taking lessons myself. Tywin hired an instructor for me. Can I see your sword?” She said all at once, barely stopping to take a breath, which threw Jaime off, making him feel somewhat awkward. Chuckling, Tywin smiled at her. “Later, sweetheart. Jaime’s just returned from his journey. I’m sure he’d like to settle in and rest first. You can visit with each other tomorrow.”

Jaime nodded at his father, recognizing the dismissal. “Tomorrow, perhaps. Maybe I will be able to watch one of your lessons if you’ll let me.” Jaime said as he turned to leave. “I’d love that. Goodbye, Ser Jaime.” Arya said as he walked towards the door.

“Oh and Jaime, please meet me in my solar tomorrow. There are a few things we need to discuss.” Tywin called to him. 

“Yes, father,” Jaime replied before leaving her alone with Tywin, who turned to her, a lecherous grin on his face. “Come here, little wife.” He said. Arya blushed but shook her head. “You need to rest first. You’ve only just awoken after your injury. You need time to heal.” She said, but he grabbed her hand, pulling her close and leaning in to kiss her. “Perhaps, but I’d sleep much better if you were beside me, Sweetheart.”

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The large bed rocked, the wood creaking as Balon moaned and grunted, uttering obscenities. Beneath him, Cersei closed her eyes, pretending to enjoy it, tossing out an occasional moan, her legs wrapped around Balon’s waist as he took her hard, his foul breath making her reel. With a loud grunt, he finished and rolled off her, lying beside her on the bed, breathless and panting. Rolling onto her side to face him, she forced a smile. “You were incredible, my lord.” She gushed, struggling not to roll her eyes. He had taken her repeatedly over the past two days, but she wasn’t impressed by his skills. He was only slightly better than Robert had been and that wasn’t saying much.

Breathless, Balon gave her a lecherous grin, his right hand moving to her breasts, as he grew hard again, before rolling on top of her. He had the stamina if nothing else, she thought to herself. As he thrust into her back, plans drifted through Cersei’s mind of how to turn the situation to her advantage. She was aware of Balon’s thirst for glory, his endless greed for a crown, and to be a King in his own right. She hoped to persuade him to rebel, to declare independence, and build a fleet to attack King’s Landing. If successful, she could be restored to power, gain her revenge on her father, and rid herself of her pathetic new husband. She could rule the Seven Kingdoms as regent through her son, and finally, have the power she craved. She could take any lover she wanted and do whatever she pleased, openly, and without fear. Once she had the Iron Throne, she could seize Casterly Rock and the vast fortune of gold that rightfully should have been hers as Tywin’s firstborn child, proving once and for all she was just as good as any man.

“You’re such a great man, my husband.” Cersei cooed. “Strong, powerful, handsome. The Iron Fleet is the largest and strongest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms. You shouldn’t settle for being Lord of the Iron Islands. Not when you could be a King.” She said sweetly, hoping to appeal to his ego.

Balon was lost in a sea of pleasure, between the legs of his much younger wife. Through the fog that enveloped his mind, her words drifted in, and breathless, he looked at her but shook his head. “My agreement with your father…Now that the war has ended, I can’t openly defy the Crown and hope to win on my own. After my last attempt, I learned not to rebel alone. The realm united against us, and we lost many good men. The Ironborn are too few. We’d need a much larger army, allies, money…” He said breathlessly, as he swelled, spending himself inside her. Collapsing onto the bed beside her, he fell asleep, leaving Cersei awake beside him, a sinister plan slowly taking shape inside her head.

TBC


	17. Surprises

Roose Bolton sat at the wooden desk in the Lord Commander’s study, his eyes scanning a letter in front of him. It had been a little over three weeks since he and his forces arrived at the Wall to aid the Night’s Watch and he had been keeping busy writing to the various lords of the realm, on Jon’s behalf. Many had refused to send aid while some hadn’t answered back at all. However, there were a small few who still possessed a smattering of respect for the Night’s Watch and had agreed to come to their aid. The latest was a letter from the new Lord Umber, who had pledged support to the Night’s Watch. He had promised to send two-hundred-foot soldiers and a few wagons of supplies to feed them.

He wasn’t entirely too surprised to see that most of the promised help had come from the Northern lords, though they could only send small numbers after the recent war. While he had mixed feelings about this, he was confident Jon Snow had no intentions of breaking his vows to the Night’s Watch. Stark honor still meant something, even if most of them were dead now. Part of him had feared that the boy might try to do him harm or desert and stage some sort of foolish rebellion, but he genuinely seemed more concerned with drilling the remaining members of the Night’s Watch and preparing for the upcoming battle than anything else.

Since their arrival at the wall, the Bolton men and the remaining brothers of the Night’s Watch had been kept busy cutting back the forests beyond the wall as well as repairing some of the damaged areas of Castle Black. The work was long and hard, but the results were worth it. A few towers had been restored and with the forest cut back the wildlings would have to attack the wall without the safe cover of the forest to protect them from arrows. Every now and then, small groups of soldiers would arrive under the command of one lord or another to aid the Night’s watch. Most were from the North, but a few had been ousted River lords with their remaining troops, come to aid the Night’s Watch.

Their biggest surprise had come from the Vale a few days ago.  
(Flashback)

Around midday, Jon had been in the courtyard supervising training drills for the Night’s Watch brethren when a loud horn sounded, and a steward came running across the snow-covered yard.

“Lord Commander Snow. At the gates. A large host. Come quickly.” The steward said out of breath from the long run.

Jon excused himself leaving Ser Alliser Thorne in charge of the drills while he followed the ranger back to the gates. When they reached the gates and mounted the wall, they saw just beyond the walls, a large host marching under a blue banner with a large black trout emblazoned on it. Here and there were a few other sigils. Jon gave the order to open the gates immediately as he hurried down to the yard below to meet the host in person.

As the gates opened, in rode the Blackfish on an old grey charger, surrounded by various lords and knights from the Vale, their combined host at their back. The Blackfish dismounted his horse as his companions did likewise. Stewards hurried forward to take their horses as the Blackfish and Jon Snow approached each other. The two stood there looking each other over for a few moments before the Blackfish smiled and held out a hand to Jon. 

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Snow. You look so much like Ned. I heard you were having some trouble with the wildlings north of the wall and thought I’d come to help you out.” He said as he cast an eye around the courtyard, taking in the men rushing about their work.

Jon gaped for a moment but finally, he found his tongue and replied. “You are indeed most welcome. It’s an honor to have a commander of your skill and wisdom here with us. The truth is we could use all the help we can get.”

The pair spoke for a few moments before Jon led the Blackfish and the lords from the Vale into Castle Black proper as the stewards helped the soldiers settle into one of the newly repaired towers.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

“That’s all for today, Lady Lannister. You’re doing well so far. I think you could become quite skilled if you continue to practice.” Jaqen said, impressed.

“Thank you so much. That means a lot. I’ve been practicing every moment that I can. Ser Jaime has been a big help too.” Arya replied, turning to Jaime who stood leaning against the far wall, watching them.

“We’ll continue your lessons again tomorrow at noon, my lady.” Jaqen replied as he took the training swords and left the room, leaving only Ser Jaime and Arya behind. 

Arya raced over to Jaime, grinning. “Well? What did you think? I know I’ve got a lot to learn but I’m getting better.” She said, breathing hard.

Jaime pretended to think for a moment, making her glare, before replying. “You’re doing a lot better, actually. I’m very proud of you. You’re quick and agile, which will be an asset against much stronger opponents.” He said encouragingly as they walked back towards the tower of the hand together.

Arya grinned widely and nodded. “Thanks, Ser Jaime.”

When they reached the tower of the hand the Lannister guards standing at attention quickly stood aside letting them pass. They had just entered the tower when they heard loud shouting and raced through the hallway, heading for the suite of rooms Arya shared with Tywin.

“No, no, no! It’s been almost a month. I refuse to lay in this bed another minute. I feel much better, besides I have too much to do to lay around any longer.” Tywin shouted as he ignored Pycelle’s attempts to persuade him otherwise.

Opening the door, Arya raced inside while Jaime stood in the doorway watching the scene unfold before him. “But my lord, your wound is barely healed. You’ll only wind up in pain if you push yourself like this.” Pycelle said nervously.

“At my age aches and pains are to be expected.” Tywin snapped at him, from where he sat on the bed, pulling on his boots.

Pycelle spluttered, face pale while Arya did her best to try and soothe Tywin. “Tywin, please. He’s only trying to help.” Arya pleaded.

“He can help by leaving. My wound is fine now, and I’ve no need for his ministrations any longer. Now leave, all of you.” Tywin said. 

“But my lord…” Pycelle started as Tywin grabbed him by the arm, pushing him back through the doorway before closing the door in his and Jaime’s faces as he turned around to face Arya, a smirk on his face.

“How was your training session with your instructor, sweetheart?” Tywin asked, crossing the room to the desk and fastening the golden hand’s pin on his shirt before turning to face her. 

“It went well. I’m getting much better.” Arya replied, smiling.

“Good. I’m pleased to hear it. Now get changed. I have a surprise for you.” Tywin stated, his gaze fixed on her.

“A surprise, my lord? What is it?” She asked, eagerly. 

“You’ll find out soon enough. Just get dressed.” Tywin said, smiling at her.

Swallowing nervously, Arya crossed the room, to the wardrobe she shared with Tywin and took out one of the tunics and a pair of breeches that he had acquired for her. Casting him a nervous glance over her shoulder, she turned away from him and quickly began to change.

Confused by her sudden shyness, Tywin frowned but thought nothing of it at the time, turning to finish getting ready himself. When she was changed, he led her out of their apartments to the set of rooms, previously occupied by her sister. Nodding at the pair of Lannister guards standing watch outside, he opened the door as they stepped aside and ushered her inside.

Arya entered and froze, surprised and at the same time delighted. Sitting on a cushioned chair by the window, looking out over the sprawling city of King’s Landing below was her mother. Racing forward, Arya quickly crossed the room and wrapped her mother in a tight hug.

Surprised at first, Lady Catelyn quickly brightened up, having not seen her youngest daughter in the four years since she had traveled south to King’s Landing. Arya had recently celebrated her fifteenth name day and the scrawny gangly girl from Winterfell was long gone. “Arya, my sweet Arya. I’m so happy to see you. Let me look at you.” Lady Catelyn gushed, pulling back to look her daughter over, tears misting in her eyes. 

Taking in the sight of the roaring golden lion sewn into the breast of Arya’s tunic she frowned slightly but it was gone as she quickly smiled, hugging her daughter once more. “We lost all word of you after your father was killed. What happened to you? Sansa was captured by the Lannisters and we didn’t hear anything about you. I…I feared I had lost you too. The look in her eyes nearly made Arya cry as well, as she looked up at her mother. They had been apart for too long, and most of her family was now gone. “I’m sorry about Bran and Rickon, mother. Tywin told me they were lost when Theon seized Winterfell. And Robb…” At this point, there were tears in Arya’s eyes which she did her best to hide.

Arya, where is your sister? Where is Sansa? She is here, isn’t she? Why hasn’t she visited?” Catelyn asked, pain laced in with her words.

Arya shook her head sadly at this. “Lord Varys says she was kidnapped and taken to the Eyrie. She’s with Aunt Lysa.” 

Catelyn slumped visibly in a mix of relief, joy, and sorrow. “It’s alright, sweetheart. As long as she is safe. That’s all that matters. My boys are gone but I still have you and Sansa. That’s a small comfort at least.” She said, trying to reassure both Arya and herself.

“That’s not entirely true, mother. It’s not just you, me and Sansa. At least not for much longer anyway.” Arya said, biting her lip softly.

“What do you mean? What’s happened? Have you heard anything about the boys? Please tell me.” Catelyn implored, tears streaming down her face. 

“Well, no actually. It’s just that I married Tywin, as you know. And shortly after… well.” Arya cut off, uncertain how to finish her sentence.

Lady Catelyn looked bewildered for a moment before anger suddenly clouded her gaze. Furious she shoved her daughter away and turned away from her, leaving a devastated Arya to stare helplessly at her mother’s back.

Tywin slowly crossed the room, his gaze fixed on her as he took her hand, leading her from the room. The door closed behind them and the Lannister soldiers resumed their place in front of the door. Walking down the hallway back toward Tywin’s solar, he occasionally glanced at her, uncertain whether he had understood correctly. “When were you going to tell me?” He asked, awkwardly when they were alone in his solar.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

She was walking through the Godswood of the Eyrie in a hurry to get to her room. She was on the verge of tears after a fight with her cousin Robyn. Sometimes he could be so selfish and say hurtful things. She wished he would just grow up, but with Lysa coddling him as she did that wasn’t likely to happen. Tears in her eyes and sniffling softly, Sansa wasn’t looking where she was going and bumped into something solid. Stepping back, she looked up and saw Petyr standing there looking at her, concern in his eyes.

“Sansa, sweetness, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He asked, reaching out to caress her chin. 

“I…it’s nothing, don’t worry. I’m fine, Petyr.” She sniffled, wiping away a tear in her eye. 

“No, no you’re not. You can trust me, Sansa. Tell me what’s wrong?” He soothed, wrapping her in his arms.

Sansa felt slightly uncomfortable, but they had continued the pretense of her being Petyr’s bastard daughter in front of the servants for her own safety, so she tried to hide her discomfort and play along with the charade. “It’s just something Robyn said. Sometimes he can be so rude and childish. It’s so frustrating at times trying to deal with him.” She said, her eyes downcast. 

Petyr caressed her cheek and brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “Well, girls mature faster than boys do. Shh now, sweetheart. It’ll be alright. I love you.” He said softly, before surprising her by kissing her lips.

Startled, she pushed him away and looked at him. She saw hurt in his eyes, but he quickly hid it and excused himself before walking away. Sansa continued on her way to her room, never seeing her Aunt Lysa standing in the balcony above them, a crazed look in her eyes.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Later that day, Sansa lay in her bed, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief when a knock sounded at the door to her chambers. Startled, she stood and went to answer the door. Opening it she felt panic flood her as she saw Marillion standing in the doorway, a leer on his face as he stared at her chest. “What do you want?” She said, tensely as she covered her chest with her arms.

Marillion’s eyes snapped up and he met her gaze. “Lady Lysa would like to see you in the audience chamber.” He said as he turned, motioning for her to follow without giving her another look.

Fighting to hide her discomfort, she followed him through the halls and into the audience chamber, absently noticing that it was deserted except for her Aunt Lysa who stood just inside the room, waiting for her. Marillion lead her inside the room and Lysa took her by the hand leading her farther inside as she heard the door close behind her and a bolt slammed into place. Nervously, she tried to speak but Lysa shushed her, her grip on Sansa’s arm tightening considerably. Behind them, Marillion began to play his harp and sing loudly.

“Aunt Lysa, what exactly did you want to see me about? Where’s Petyr?” She asked, wincing as Lysa’s sharp nails dug painfully into her arm at the sound of his name.

“You two are very close, aren’t you?” She snapped angrily, turning to face Sansa. “It’s because you look so much like your mother. Petyr always chased after Cat like a lost puppy. He couldn’t see how much it hurt me, how much I loved him. He was always obsessed with her. No matter what I did. Catelyn this and Catelyn that. Perfect Catelyn.” She snapped angrily as she jerked roughly on Sansa’s arm pulling her along behind her. She reached for the lever that opened the moon door and yanked it hard, grinning madly as the wind rushed up to meet them. The look in her eyes made Sansa panic. Desperately she tried to move away, but Lysa smacked her hard, throwing her off balance.

Sansa was now terrified, but Lysa continued to ramble on, a wild look in her eyes. “I loved him more than anything, I still do. I even secured a post for him at court, as Master of Coin. Of course, he was so clever too. He spent all his time building up his little business, his whores. Filthy women with low morals who did nothing but tempt him,” Lysa spat, her hands grabbing Sansa, pushing her closer to the moon door. “Does he touch you? Does he make you scream in pleasure like he does his whores? How many times have you slept with him?” Lysa shouted in a shrill voice, as Sansa sobbed, now just a few feet away from the moon door, desperately trying to escape.

“Please, Aunt Lysa. You’ve got it all wrong. There’s nothing like that between me and Petyr. I’m only here because he rescued me from King’s Landing. He promised to take me home, to Winterfell, to my family.” She pleaded, but Lysa shook her head, face purple with rage.

“Don’t lie to me, you little slut. Do you take me for a fool? I saw him kiss you.” Lysa raged hysterically, madness shining in her eyes as she moved to push Sansa through the moon door when a voice sounded behind them.

“Lysa, sweetheart, please calm down. Listen to me for just a minute before you do something you’ll regret later.” Petyr said as he slowly crossed the room, his arms held out for her. “Please, calm down. I love you.” He pleaded softly.

Lysa sobbed, letting go of Sansa who quickly moved away from the moon door and far away from Lysa. In the background, Marillion continued to play. “Why? Why did you have to do this? Why did you kiss her? I’d have done anything for you. You know that. I poisoned my husband for you. I wrote that letter to Cat, framing the Lannisters for Jon’s murder, just like you asked me too.” Lysa said, in hysterics as Petyr walked forward, pulling her into his arms. “Don’t you love me, Petyr? You said you did.” Petyr calmly looked her in the eyes. “There is only one woman I’ve ever truly loved in my life. Catelyn Tully.” Petyr said, disgust and anger in his eyes as he pushed Lysa through the moon door.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Over the last few weeks, she had been working tirelessly on her plans, plying Balon with flattery, stroking his ego and using her body to ensnare him. It was working perfectly. He was absolutely obsessed with her now, every night taking his rights as her husband. Beside her in bed, Balon lay breathing heavily. They had just been intimate yet again. “Husband, you’re so strong, so powerful, so manly. Why settle for being a lapdog for the Crown when you could be a king yourself? If you sail your fleet to King’s Landing, you could seize the captial and take the throne for yourself.” She purred, her hand stroking his manhood, teasing him back to full erection. “Picture it. Balon Greyjoy, King of Westeros. All those stuck up mainlanders forced to kneel and kiss your boots. Wouldn’t that be so wonderful? You could bring glory to the Iron Islands and to your house.” She whispered into his ear, her hand wrapped around his cock, slowly jerking him off while he moaned, listening to her speak.

“King Balon Greyjoy, long may he reign.” He muttered softly as he closed his eyes, imagining the scene briefly. 

Cersei suppressed a shudder but smiled. “Oh yes, doesn’t it sound wonderful husband?”

Balon shook his head and pushed her hand aside. “I’m afraid it’s impossible. Earlier this week your father agreed to a betrothal match between his heir Tyrion and my daughter Yara. I can’t betray him now. It’s too late.”

Cersei started angrily, pulling away. “A betrothal to Tyrion? His heir? How could you possibly agree to that? It’s outrageous. How stupid are you? I refuse to allow this.” Cersei snapped hysterically.

Balon glared at her, his hand reaching out, striking her as he yelled. “You watch your mouth, cunt. I am lord of the Iron Islands, not you. I rule here, not you. I tolerate you because you’re a good fuck, but it’s time you learned your place here. Don’t think you can just order me around in my own home like a servant. I shall do as I please and you’ll obey, or else.” Balon snapped as he stood, pulling on his clothes before storming from the room, leaving a fuming Cersei behind.

TBC


	18. Love and Confrontation

Sansa paced nervously back and forth through her chambers. She was absolutely terrified and her mind was racing as she tried to decide what she would say. Ravens had been sent to all the holdfasts in the Vale, alerting them to the death of Lysa Tully and the now orphaned Robyn Arryn. Many of them were sure to set out immediately for the Eyrie to convene on who should serve as Regent of the Vale during Robin’s minority, now that the Blackfish and many of the Vale’s nobility were in the North. Sansa was unsure of her own fate or what Petyr’s plans would be, but she was terrified of what the consequences would be if she was accused of having contributed to Lysa Arryn’s death.

Immediately after Lysa’s murder, Petyr had dragged Marillion aside, arguing vehemently with him. Terrified out of her wits, she hadn’t paid much attention to what was said, but Marillion had been arrested for the murder of her Aunt Lysa and taken to the sky cells. Later that night she had been kept awake by his screaming and by the next morning, the sound of his sobbing filled the corridors. She had heard servants whispering that he had been tortured and had confessed to murdering Lady Lysa in a fit of jealousy. Sansa wasn’t sure what to make of this news, but part of her was glad that she wouldn’t have to put up with Marillion leering at her all the time. Still, she had her nagging fears.

“What if Marillion had found out about her encounter with Petyr in the gardens? What if he’d seen? Told someone. Who all knew about it? Did everyone know? Gossip like this had a way of spreading out of control? Petyr had kissed her and then Lysa tried to kill her. What if they accused her of killing her aunt? Would she be arrested? Executed? Would they torture her first? Or gods forbid, send her to the Capital for punishment at Joffrey’s hands.” She paced furiously as these thoughts ran through her panicked mind.

The sound of a knock at her door broke her out of her musings and turning, she hurried across the room to open the door. A distressed serving maid stood there but she instantly cheered when she saw Sansa. “Oh, my lady, thank goodness. It’s Lord Robin. He’s throwing a terrible fit and we can’t calm him down. Could you please help us?” She pleaded desperately. 

Nodding, Sansa followed the serving girl down the hall to Robin’s rooms. Robin was fond of throwing tantrums and apart from his mother, only she had the ability to calm him when he got like this. Sansa shook her head to clear it as they walked. When they reached the hallway outside Robin’s rooms, they heard shouting coming from within and what sounded like the maester’s desperate pleading. Opening the door, they had to duck as a book flew across the room and hit the wall behind them.

Sansa bit back an angry retort and calmly strode into the room, a sweet smile on her face. “Sweet Robin dear, what’s wrong? Why are you so angry?” She asked as she crossed the room and knelt beside him on the bed.

“My lords and bannermen are coming. Uncle Petyr says we may have to leave the Eyrie and travel down the mountain.” Robin said, angrily as he pounded his fists on the bed.

“Sweet Robin, at this time of year, if we don’t leave the Eyrie, we’ll be trapped up here and we will starve and freeze to death. There’s no way to get food or firewood up here when the winch freezes and we can’t use the basket.” She said softly.

“I don’t want to go down the mountain, Alayne. The climb scares me.” He whispered softly to her.

Sansa gently caressed his cheek and reassured him in a soothing voice. “Don’t worry, Sweet Robin. The climb isn’t so bad. I made it myself on the way here. And if a poor, helpless maid like me can do it, surely a strong, brave lord like yourself can do it with no trouble.” She said, wrapping her arms around him.

“I suppose so.” He said sounding unconvinced.

“Besides, we’ll make the climb together with your lords and bannermen, and Uncle Petyr will be there too. You don’t want your bannermen to think you’re scared, do you?” She said, hoping to appeal to his ego.

“Of course not.” He said, quickly.

Smiling, Sansa nodded and stroked his cheek. “You’ll be fine. You’ll show them all what a brave, strong lord you are.” She said. 

“Will you tell me a story, Alayne?” He asked.

Smiling, Sansa nodded and considered. “How would you like to hear a story about the Griffin Kings of the Vale?” 

At once, Robin’s eyes lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. “Of course. I love your stories, Alayne.”

Sansa pulled him into her lap and smiled as she began her story.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Kevan sat in the small council chamber reading the missive for the third time, hardly daring to believe it. The Martells had been so thrilled to hear of the Mountain’s demise and to finally have the justice that had so long eluded them that Prince Doran Martell had, at last, consented to Oberyn’s appointment to the small council and had even written a letter of gratitude. The magnitude of such a gesture was staggering considering the two houses had been locked in a bitter feud for nearly twenty years now.

Standing abruptly, Kevan strode from the council chambers and headed towards the Tower of the Hand where he knew his brother would be. When he reached the Tower of the Hand the Lannister guards allowed him through and he proceeded down the hall to Tywin’s solar. Knocking on the door, Kevan waited but received no answer, so he decided to wait until later, assuming Tywin was resting in his chambers.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Tywin lay in his bed in the Tower of the Hand, his mind racing. “How had he not foreseen this? His wife was pregnant. His little wolf.” He supposed it was hardly surprising considering he often took his rights as her husband without giving any thought to taking precaution. Inwardly, he cursed himself, feeling the fool now. Arya lay in his arms, looking shyly to the side, careful to avoid his gaze. “Another child? Was he ready for that? His own children had grown up now and the two he loved most had turned out to be a disappointment to him, becoming far too close for his liking. He wasn’t entirely sure how he would deal with Jaime. Still, it’s not like this is a bad thing, is it?” He asked himself. 

Yesterday, his life had seemed perfect. Jaime was safely returned to him and adjusting to life at court, despite the loss of his offhand. The Tyrells had calmed down, the city had begun to prosper again. The North was back under the control of the Crown and the Iron Islands were no longer a pressing concern either. He was a little worried by the rumors of a vast host of wildlings marching on the wall, but raids were nothing new. Wildlings had been a nuisance for as long as the wall had existed, still nothing like the numbers being reported. He had planned to reunite his wife with her mother and from there, things began to spin entirely out of control. His surprise had blown up in his face, his wife and her mother now driven further apart than before followed by this sudden news. He had escorted Arya back to the Tower of the Hand and then disappeared inside his solar for hours, alone, to try and process this latest turn of events.

Reaching down he cupped her chin and tilted her head, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Arya…are you really…?” Tywin trailed off as a worried Arya nodded shyly.

“Are you mad, my lord?” She asked quietly, worrying her bottom lip.

Tywin was silent for a moment and Arya sniffled. “I…I’m sorry…” She started, but Tywin silenced her with a kiss.

“Shh, sweetheart. I’m thrilled. It’s just that this was such a shock is all.” He said as he sat up against the headboard and pulled her into his lap. Cradling her against his chest, Tywin closed his eyes, memories of Joanna flooding back to him. Tywin sent a silent prayer to the seven that history wouldn’t repeat itself and that Arya would survive. He wasn’t sure he could bear the loss a second time. He had never told a soul, but he still heard her screams followed by that sudden horrible silence in his nightmares even now, after so many years had passed. Giving his head a shake to clear his thoughts, Tywin smiled at her, his hands teasing stray locks of her dark hair as he held her. 

“How was your day, sweetheart?” He asked softly to distract himself from his line of thought. “It was fine. I spent the day training with Jaqen. I’m doing much better. I was able to block most of his blows and even managed to hit him once. And even Ser Jaime says that I could be a terrific swordsman if I continue my training,” she said, beaming up at him. 

Tywin smiled, his fingers carding through her hair as he listened to her. “That’s wonderful sweetheart, but you realize that soon enough I’ll have to cancel your lessons until after the baby is born, don’t you?” He said tentatively.

Sighing, Arya nodded but didn’t look very happy. “I understand.” 

They spent the next few hours talking, discussing baby names and plans for the future before settling in for dinner.  
XxxxxxxxxxxX

Jon ran through the icy wind, his boots crunching the fresh snow beneath his feet as he raced forward, following the sound of her voice. Ygritte was laughing at something he said, shaking her head. “You know nothing, Snow.”

Suddenly, the ground disappeared from under her and she was falling, her eyes glazed over, the laughter suddenly gone. “Nooo…” Jon’s eyes snapped open, breathing hard he sat up in his bed, looking around frantically before realizing where he was. He shivered, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders as his breath fogged the air in the dim light. The fire had died out and only a few glowing embers remained in the hearth.

Standing, he walked over to the table and splashed some cool water from a basin onto his face, before giving his head a shake. Nearby on the floor, Ghost looked at him, his red eyes boring into Jon’s. Jon pulled on his boots and fastened his sword belt around his waist before strolling from the room, walking out into the courtyard. Overhead the moon shone bright and Jon shivered, looking up at the wall. 

“Trouble sleeping, Snow?” Startled, Jon turned and saw the Blackfish standing a few feet away, sipping from a wineskin and staring up at the stars. 

Jon let out a sigh and nodded. “Just a few memories that are best left in the past.” 

Chuckling, the Blackfish shook his head and took another sip from the wineskin. “Ah, a woman then.”

Startled, Jon nodded. “How’d you know?” he asked.

“I’ve been there a few times myself, Snow. Only a woman can cause a man such distress.” The Blackfish said, looking at him now. “Care to share?”

Jon fumbled for a moment before finding his tongue. “Her name was Ygritte. She was a wildling girl I met while ranging beyond the wall.” He said, hesitantly.

Shaking his head, the Blackfish smiled. “Must have been a beauty to make a Stark forget his honor.”

Blushing, Jon sighed but nodded. “A redhead.”

The Blackfish grinned and laughed. “Kissed by fire.” He said, smiling.

“How did you…?” Jon started, surprise evident on his features when the Blackfish interrupted him.

“I’ve been North of the wall a few times myself, Snow.” He said, going quiet as he became lost in thought. 

The sound of footsteps made them both look up as Roose Bolton walked into the courtyard, looking as though he had been awake for hours, his emotionless gray eyes fixing them each in turn with a piercing stare as he came to a stop beside them. “Am I interrupting?” He asked, clutching a glass of his favorite hippocras in his gloved hands.

“Not at all. Jon and I were just reminiscing about old loves. Care to join us?” The blackfish asked.

Roose took another sip of his wine while gazing at the Blackfish. “I’ve had my share of dalliances when I was younger, but I have only truly loved once.”

Jon listened, waiting for him to continue but Bolton said no more and neither of them pried. About a half hour later they walked inside, each going back to their own rooms to try to sneak in a bit more rest before the day started.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Late in the evening, Tywin sighed standing from the chair he had been sitting in for the past hour. Deciding on a walk in the Godswood to clear his mind he left the apartments he shared with Arya and made his way down the corridor that would take him outside. He hadn’t made it very far when a voice called out to him from behind. Turning he inclined his head and spoke.

“I didn’t expect to see you out this late, Lady Stark.” He said quietly.

“Err, yes. Well, I have had a lot on my mind lately and thought some fresh air would do me good. I’m glad that I ran into you, actually.” Lady Catelyn said, mustering her courage as she walked beside Tywin.

“Oh? And what did you wish to see me about?” Tywin asked calmly as they continued on toward the Godswood.

“I wanted to talk to you about Arya. I want you to let her go. She belongs with her family. You’ve won the war so there’s no need to keep her hostage anymore.” Lady Catelyn said sharply.

“Arya is my wife, not my hostage. She’s expecting my child. She’ll remain with me. I love her.” Tywin said his voice taking on a firm edge as they entered the Godswood.

Lady Catelyn turned to face him, an angry expression on her face. “We both know that’s a lie. You don’t know how to love. I’m not sure you’re even capable of such an emotion. You’re just using her. You can keep the child if you must. She can have others with a man who will love her and cherish her. Just let her go.”

Scowling, Tywin towered over Catelyn who had the good sense to look afraid. “Tell me, Lady Stark. Are children so easily replaced in your experience? And what could you possibly know of my feelings for Arya? You turned your back on her barely five minutes after you were reunited with her. She hasn’t had a mother for years and the moment she finally has one again she is once more cast adrift. Tell me, which of us doesn’t know how to love properly, Lady Stark?” Tywin snapped before turning on his heel and heading back inside leaving a silent Catelyn behind.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Mance looked up at the wall, the towering structure giving off an eerie glow in the moonlight as all around him his host made the final preparations. Already, climbers were making their way quickly and quietly up the wall, careful to avoid alerting the sentries patrolling the top of the wall. Soon they would reach the top, kill the sentries and raise the gate blocking the tunnel so the wildlings could storm through, taking the remaining crows by surprise.

TBC


	19. A Man's Size

Jon tossed and turned in his bunk, his eyes shut as he tried to catch a few last minutes of sleep before the day began. Giving up on sleep as a lost cause, he let out a groan of frustration. Try as he might something just wouldn’t let him sleep. Deciding to get up for the day, he stood and pulled on his boots before strapping on his sword belt. Checking himself over in the mirror, he sighed again and made his way out of the room with Ghost at his side. Walking out into the brisk, early morning air he shook his head and stepped out into the courtyard.

At his side, Ghost whined and bolted, running around frantically trying to get his attention before taking off towards the small tunnel in the wall. Deciding to follow, Jon ran after him as Ghost raced into the tunnel. A loud shout of surprise met his ears, followed by screams and growls as Jon hurried after him, drawing long claw as he went. Entering the tunnel, Jon paused, looking ahead. The winch that held the gate in the tunnel was jammed, and five wildings were in the tunnel trying desperately to fend off Ghost as they raced through the tunnel to the other side of the wall. “Shit! Ghost, to me.” Jon said, rushing towards the winch. He pulled and tugged hard on the lever, trying to close the gate, but the winch was damaged, and the gate would not close. Looking out into the wilderness beyond the edge of the tunnel, he saw the wilding host advancing on the wall. 

Cursing, Jon called to Ghost as they raced back into the courtyard, shouting for help, drawing the attention of the few brothers of the night’s watch awake at this hour. Overhead a horn sounded twice, the blasts loud and long. Wildlings were approaching. A few seconds passed before more horns sounded and men raced out of the newly repaired towers clutching swords in one hand as they struggled to strap on their armor onehanded even as the first of the wildlings burst out of the tunnel and into the courtyard. Jon rushed forward to meet them, Ghost at his side as the castle garrison sprang to life, crows and soldiers alike rushing out of the towers to meet the enemy.

Racing forwards, Jon swung his sword and took the head off the first wildling he met while kicking out at a second, sending him off balance and tumbling to the ground. Jon followed up the kick with a quick thrust, his sword pushing through the wildlings chest, staining the snow beneath him red with blood. Nearby, Ghost pounced, ripping the throat out of a wildling that had snuck up behind him, intending to take him by surprise. Beside him the volunteers from the realm now battled the continuous stream of wildlings pouring through the gate as several brothers of the night’s watch under the command of Ser Alliser raced up the wall, carrying bows and quivers of arrows, ready to defend the wall against the oncoming host.

Over the din of the fighting, Jon vaguely heard the Blackfish and Lord Bolton shouting orders as they organized their troops into a formation. The Blackfish had rallied the Knights of the Vale and was busy fighting the wildlings who had made it inside the keep while Roose Bolton led a company of light cavalry armed with long, hooked pikes down the tunnel to push the wildlings back through to the other side. Calling Ghost over to his side, he moved to join up with them as they slowly gained ground.

He slowly moved through the narrow tunnel, inching past the charging cavalry, and made his way through the tunnel and out the other side. Coming out the other side, he quickly found himself caught up in the thickest part of the fighting. From the right, a screaming wildling covered head to toe in thick furs with a red face and shaggy beard charged him, a heavy handled ax in both hands. Jon narrowly dodged and swung his sword the blade cutting through a wildling's throat, as another charged forward, swinging a rusty broadsword. The force of the blow left Jon reeling, and only by sheer luck and finely honed reflexes did he manage to parry the blow seconds before it would have cut him in two. He kicked out, knocking the wildling’s legs out from under him. 

A few meters ahead of him, where the wildlings were thickest, arrows rained down as Ser Aliser Thorn did his best to prevent the wildlings from pinning the Bolton men at arms against the wall. Meanwhile, screams came from overhead as the bloody corpses of wildlings who had been attempting to scale the walls came plummeting to the snow-covered earth.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Pacing back and forth in the antechamber she waited, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. She was terrified, unsure of what she was going to say. She had stressed over the decision for days on end while the Lords Declarant of the Vale made camp at the foot of the mountain. They had each brought a thousand men with them, and together, they formed a blockade, cutting off all supplies to the Eyrie. They had demanded that Petyr surrender the Eyrie and hand Lord Robin over to their care. The standoff lasted for three weeks during which both sides exchanged several ravens with neither party getting anywhere in the negotiations.

Finally, after three weeks, with supplies running low, Petyr had agreed to a meeting, and the Lords Declarant were permitted to advance up the mountain on condition that they come without an armed escort. When they arrived, Petyr met them in the Entrance Hall, and they spent a few moments to dine on bread, salt, and wine before being escorted into the Great Hall, where Lord Robin was waiting on his throne. They bowed to Lord Robin, who received them well, as Petyr had instructed him to do. Petyr, who was now Lord Protector of the Vale, stood beside him on the dais in the Great Hall of the Eyrie. 

While the Lords Declarant gathered in the Great Hall, a servant had knocked on Sansa’s chamber door and informed her that their guests had arrived and had asked to speak with her since she had been present when Lysa Arryn was murdered. The servant escorted her to the antechamber to wait while they talked with Petyr and Lord Robin. A few minutes passed, and the door to the antechamber opened, and a regal woman with graying hair and loose skin under her neck walked in, dressed in a dark green dress with a mantle draped over her arm. She smiled reassuringly and held her hand out to Sansa who stood terrified, looking at her like a deer caught in the headlights.

The older woman gently took Sansa’s hand and introduced herself as Lady Anya Waynwood. When her nerves had finally settled, Anya escorted Sansa into the great hall where the other Lords Declarant stood waiting at the foot of the dais, with Lord Robin and Petyr looking on. Anya led Sansa to a chair in the middle of the hall before walking to stand beside her fellow lords. Sansa swallowed and sat in the chair, looking nervously at Petyr, who smiled to her from his spot beside Robin. 

“Now then, let’s get down to business, shall we? We’ve spoken to your father, Lord Baelish, and now we’d like to hear from you since you were present at the time. Would you please tell us, in your own words, what happened to Lady Lysa?” Lady Waynwood asked taking the lead.

Sansa paused, looking up at Petyr before swallowing then looked directly at the assembled nobles before her. “Very well. Petyr lied to you. My name is not Alayne Stone. It’s Sansa of House Stark.” At this sudden confession, Petyr paled and started forward hastily to interrupt her while Robin shouted angrily from the dais, but she shook her head. “It’s alright, Petyr. We can trust them.” She spoke softly. Turning to face them, she noticed most of them seemed less than shocked. She wondered if they knew all along she wasn’t who she claimed to be. 

“Petyr smuggled me out of King’s Landing and brought me here. He claimed he was rescuing me, but he left my younger sister Arya behind. When Lysa saw Petyr kiss me in the Godswood, she flew into a jealous rage and ordered Marillion to bring me to the Great Hall, where she confronted me and tried to push me through the moon door.” Sansa continued.

At this revelation, Petyr panicked, but Lord Yohn Royce silenced him with a glare and turned back to face Sansa. “You say he kissed you?” he asked seriously now as Petyr tried again to interrupt.

“Sansa, dear, please. You should go and rest. I’m afraid this has all been too much for her.” Petyr said while edging forward towards her. Before he could get close enough to her, Lords Horton Redfort and Gilwood Hunter strode forward, grabbing him by the arms and frog-marched him down to the edge of the room away from Sansa and Lord Robin as Lady Anya and Lord Royce turned to face Sansa again. “Don’t be afraid. Please continue, child.” Lord Yohn Royce said in a grandfatherly manner.

“I didn’t want him to kiss me, but he did. I think it’s because I look like my mother. He loved her when they were children.” Sansa said as she found her courage. In front of her, Lady Anya shared a look with Lord Yohn Royce, who nodded and whispered something in reply that she couldn’t hear before they turned back to face her. “Aunt Lysa became enraged and tried to push me through the moon door, but Petyr arrived in time to stop her. They…they argued for a few minutes before Petyr told her that…that he had only ever loved my mother…and then he pushed her out of the moon door.” Sansa said softly, near tears at recalling the event. 

Nearby on the dais, Lord Robin started shouting and cursing Petyr as Gilwood Hunter, and Horton Redfort restrained a now struggling Baelish. “He killed my mother. Make him fly! I want to see him fly.” Lord Robin shouted angrily as Lady Anya rushed up onto the dais to soothe him.

At Lord Yohn’s instructions, armed guards loyal to House Arryn rushed into the Great Hall and bound Petyr’s hands behind his back as Lords Gilwood and Horton led him down to the sky cells to ensure he did not escape and they returned a short time later. Meanwhile, Lady Waynwood had managed to calm Robin down with Sansa’s help and once he was settled, she had been taken aside by Lords Yohn Royce and Horton Redfort who had promised to send word to her mother in King’s Landing and brother and Great Uncle at the Wall that she was safe and that they would decide what to do from there later when matters at the Eyrie had settled, and they had descended to the Bloody Gate.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

“How dare he speak to me that way. I’m the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” Cersei thought to herself as she paced back and forth. “I am a Lannister. Daughter of Tywin Lannister. His only worthy child.” She internally raged. “Somehow, I’ll make him pay for this. He’ll come to realize just how important I am. They all will. Who else does he have? His lackwit son is a prisoner in the North, and his bitch of a daughter has already set sail for King’s Landing. Plotting to usurp my birthright by marrying that wretched imp. Casterly Rock should be mine.” She thought to herself. 

Crossing the room, Cersei poured herself another glass of wine from the jug, grimacing in distaste. The wine the filthy Ironborn drank was garbage, but there was no alternative. Most respectable merchants refused to do business with the Ironborn for fear of having their ships raided and their crews put to the sword. “They were little better than savages, the filthy pirates. Still, it was better than drinking their disgusting ale.” She decided, draining her glass in one gulp. She returned to her pacing, trying desperately to decide what to do about her worthless husband when suddenly she stopped, an idea coming to her.

Walking to her closet she threw on an old grey cloak and covered her head with the hood before walking to a small chest under her bed and retrieving her purse, the coins jingling inside as she fastened it to her belt. It was near midnight as she crept out of the castle and down to the village. She had ventured out into it a few times when she could and so had learned the layout. Creeping through the streets, she knocked on the door of the apothecary, waiting impatiently for a response. Receiving no answer, she hit the door again. This time louder. Finally, after several minutes the door opened, and a grizzled older man with greying hair and dark eyes looked at her.

“The shop is closed. Go away.” He barked rudely and made to shut the door. 

Cersei quickly moved to block him and spoke. “I’m afraid I can’t wait until morning. It’s urgent. I need to buy a remedy. I can pay you well for your trouble,” She said, withdrawing a gold dragon from her purse. The man pursed his lips but stepped aside and opened the door wider, letting her inside. 

“And what kind of remedy would you require at this hour?” He asked, glancing at her through tired eyes.

“I need to kill a horse. An old nag, that’s past its prime.” She said. Looking at her, the man sighed.

“And how big is this horse?” He asked.

Withdrawing another four gold dragons, she placed the five coins on the counter and said softly. “It’s a man’s size.”

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Arya climbed slowly into the tub, sighing softly as she reclined back against the side as the warm water relaxed her aching muscles. After another long training session with Jaqen, she had trudged back to the tower of the hand exhausted and sore, needle resting in its sheath against the wall near the tub. She had noticed her condition more and more over the last few weeks, and while she was learning to deal with it, she didn’t like that there were more limitations on what she was free to do now. The one bright spot was the sparring lessons she had with her instructor while Jaime offered advice and encouragement and her evenings spent with Tywin. He was a bit tense at first when he found out, but he had brightened up as time went by and they were both looking forward to the new child.

Tywin entered the tower of the hand and walked down the hall to his suite of rooms, opening and closing the door behind him. Collapsing into a chair by the fire, he sighed and shook his head. The preparations for the arrival of Prince Oberyn were finally complete. And the Dornish party were due to arrive in the next few days. He was somewhat apprehensive due to the tensions between his house and the Martells, but he hoped that things would begin to improve once they arrived and settled in at court. He was dreading the initial meeting. Oberyn was known as a man of passion and a fiery temper. He had long held a grudge against him for the loss of his sister and her children. "As long as Rhaegar's children were alive, they were a threat," He'd told himself. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax, willing sleep to come.

When the water began to cool, Arya sighed and climbed out of the tub, grabbing a towel and drying off before wrapping herself in a fluffy crimson robe hanging on the wall. Walking into the living chambers, she smiled, looking at her lord asleep in a chair, his chest rising and falling softly. Walking over to him, she leaned down and kissed his forehead before taking a book off the shelf along the wall and curling up on the sofa next to his chair. Settling down, she began to read, looking up from time to time to glance at Tywin. After a while she stood and gently shook his shoulder, quietly waking him up.

“Tywin, sweetheart, you need to wake up. It’s almost dinner time. If you don’t wake up now, you’ll be awake all night.”

Slowly, Tywin stirred and looked up, smiling when he saw her. Reaching up, he wrapped her in his arms, and leaned in, kissing her lips deeply, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. Blushing, she kissed him back and grinned as his arms snaked around her, lifting her into his lap. Snuggling against his chest, she smiled, looking into his eyes as he reached up, caressing her cheek, his free hand slipping inside the bathrobe to settle over her stomach, a smile on his face. “What do you think we should name the child, sweetheart?” He asked.

“I’ve been giving it some thought. I was thinking maybe Nymeria for a girl or Cregan for a boy. What do you think?” She asked, laying her head on his shoulder. 

“I think they are wonderful names for a child, sweetheart.” He said, his fingers carding through her hair as he held her, his lips brushing against her forehead. A knock at the door made them both look up as a kitchen boy entered and bowed, pushing a cart laden with their supper from the kitchens into the room, before turning and exiting the room, leaving the pair alone again. Arya blushed as her stomach rumbled and she stood, racing over to the cart and hastily fixed herself a plate before sitting at the table, digging eagerly into her meal.

Shaking his head, Tywin joined her, slowly eating his food, as he looked at her. “Slow down, sweetheart. There’s no need rush.” He said. 

Blushing, Arya looked at him. “Sorry. I was starving.” She said.

Chuckling, Tywin smiled at her. “There is plenty to eat. No worries.” They continued eating, making idle chitchat before retiring to bed for the evening, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

TBC

Author’s Note. I want to thank everyone for their support for this story. I regret to say there will only be two or three more chapters left in this story before it ends.


	20. The Things that Bind Us.

All around him the battle raged fiercely inside the tunnel. Jon panted, quickly ducking a blow from a wildling armed with a large Warhammer. Dancing to the side, he swung his sword and cut down his attacker, before turning to face the next, with the sound of loud grunts, screaming, and the clash of weapons ringing in his ears. Men were shouting and crying out as they died, falling to the snow-covered ground, their blood staining the snow-packed earth and the walls of ice that formed the tunnel around them red. 

The wildlings were falling back, as they pushed forward, steadily gaining ground. Lost in the steady haze of the battle, Jon barely noticed they were pushing forward through the other side of the gate. Beyond the edge of the tunnel, arrows fell in waves as more and more archers mounted the battlements at the top of the wall. Ahead of them, Mance Raider moved this way and that, shouting orders as he attempted to organize the wildlings for a second round. Meanwhile, Jon and the volunteers flooded out of the tunnel, preparing to charge the wildling host, buying the builders time to repair the damaged gate.

Lord Bolton and the Blackfish rode out of the tunnel on two large destriers at the head of a column of foot soldiers, forming them up just beyond the wall as the archers kept the wildlings penned down. Jon joined them on the front lines as they massed. 

“Forward! No quarter!” The blackfish called out, mounted on his horse as they raced forward, stepping over the bodies of dead wildlings felled by arrows. 

The charging host of soldiers continued forward, crashing headlong into the ragtag army of the Free folk. They met in a clash of steel, swords swinging and spears thrusting as all around them men fell on both sides, their cries filling the air. Ahead of him, charging through the press and swinging the trunk of a tree like a club, the ground shaking as he walked was a giant. Jon swore, dropping and rolling aside to dodge the blow of the massive tree.

Overhead, archers had begun targeting the giant, firing arrows at him. Most were swatted away by the giant as he raised his massive club into the air or bounced off his thick furs, but a few lucky arrows found purchase, sinking deep into his exposed hands and face. As they struck him the giant roared in pain and rage, lashing out with the makeshift club again, sending wildlings and soldiers alike flying through the air, their bodies collapsing in a broken heap of limbs and torsos, lifeless and unmoving. Ducking and dodging the blows, Jon scrambled to his feet, racing forward and grabbed ahold of the mess of animal pelts that made up the giant’s clothing, climbing deftly up onto its back, he raised longclaw high, bringing it down hard, the blade sinking into the flesh of the giant’s back. The giant let out an almighty howl of pain, twisting and turning, trying to shake him loose as Jon hung on for dear life, while blood pooled out of the wound, making the giant’s back slick. The giant finally tumbled, falling forward, and collapsed, crushing several unfortunate wildlings that had rushed to the giant’s aid.

As the giant fell the wildlings scattered, demoralized as Lord Bolton and the Blackfish led their forces forward, routing the fleeing wildlings. Jon staggered to his feet, wrenching longclaw free of the giant’s back as a loud shout rang out.

“Traitorous cunt. Damn you, Snow.” Mance Raider shouted as he raced forward with surprising speed and strength for his age, swinging his sword, cutting down Bolton soldiers left and right as he raced towards Jon, intending to kill him. Jon recovered his wits and spun around, bringing his sword up just in the nick of time. Mance swung his sword in a downwards slashing move intending to cut Jon open from neck to navel but Jon parried the stroke just barely before the next blow came. Dodging and blocking blow after blow, Jon struggled to find an opening, the sweat of battle dripping into his eyes, clouding his vision, as he struggled to fend Mance off. 

The pair danced around, ducking, parrying and slashing, neither gaining an inch as the battle slowed down around them, the wildlings now in full retreat. A few brothers of the Night’s watch had gathered around to watch, cheering on their commander as he battled the deserter, Mance Raider, King beyond the Wall when Jon slipped on a patch of ice and lost his footing, tumbling to the ground. Mance stood over him, sneering down as he held the tip of his sword to Jon’s throat. “You lose, Snow.” He said in a mocking tone.

Suddenly, a loud growl sounded, and all Jon saw was a flash of white as Ghost pounced, his jaws sunk into the back of Mance’s neck, knocking him to the ground, his sword landing several feet away. Mance struggled as Ghost’s jaws snapped and shook him around like a ragdoll. Finally, Mance’s neck snapped and he lay motionless as Jon climbed to his feet, Ghost running to his side, muzzle stained red with blood. “Good boy, Ghost. Good boy.” Jon said, running his fingers through the wolf’s fur as he surveyed the battlefield around him.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Sansa sat on a small stool at the side of Robin’s throne as he sat hearing petitions from his smallfolk. Occasionally, she would smile, offer words of encouragement or advice to him. Still reeling from the betrayal of his stepfather and the murder of his mother, Robin was wont to throw tantrums or fits. She and the Lords Declarant were working to curb this behavior and help him to grow into his position as Lord of the Eyrie and Warden of the East, but it was slow going. All the years of being coddled by his mother had taken their toll and he was woefully inept in many key areas. Already, he had had his first lesson with Lord Yohn Royce who was attempting to train him for combat. Sansa had watched from the sidelines and while she did her best to encourage her cousin, she knew he would never become a great warrior. The boy was simply hopeless with a sword.

Robin was currently sitting in judgment of a young man in his late teens with lanky hair and dark eyes, who was accused of raping a girl from a nearby village. The man in question, stood bound in chains, flanked by guards while the girl and her parents stood nearby, casting glares at the man. “I find you guilty of the crime of rape. You have two choices. Death or the Wall.” He said, glancing sidelong at the moon door in the middle of the hall. 

“I... I choose the wall.” The young man said, resignedly. 

Suppressing a sigh, Robin nodded. “Take him to a cell for now until he can be delivered to the wall.” At his command, a pair of guards frog-marched him out of the hall.

With the last petition heard, the hall cleared save for Sansa and the members of the Lords Declarant who stood to the side. Robin hurried down from his throne and raced over to Sansa, grinning excitedly. “Did you see? Did you see, Alayne? They listened to me. I heard their petitions like mother used to do and they obeyed.” He said.

Sansa smiled sweetly and patted him on the shoulder. “Yes, I did. Well done, Sweet Robin. You’re becoming a proper lord.” She said. Robin grinned and hugged her.

“Ahem. Well done, my lord. Now, I do believe it’s time for your lessons.” The elderly maester said, approaching the pair. Robin frowned and began to pout.

Sensing trouble, Sansa quickly spoke up. “Why don’t I come with you, Sweet Robin, and when you’re all done with your lessons I’ll tell you a story.” She spoke softly.

“Alright, I guess,” Robin said resignedly, as Sansa took his hand and together they followed the maester to the library.

Later that day, after Robin’s lessons and his story, Sansa had some time to herself while Robin went over the account books with the help of his steward and the maester. Sitting in the Godswood, Sansa spent some time reflecting on all that was happening and missing her family. A letter had arrived from her mother, who was lodged in Maegor’s Holdfast in King’s Landing. She sniffled as she read her mother’s handwriting, the ache of longing weighing heavy on her. Tywin and Arya were expecting a child. Her wild, younger sister was pregnant. It was a shock, considering Arya’s stubborn nature. When she was younger she had rebelled against their septa and her lessons. Tywin had even hired a master at arms to teach Arya to use a sword. Only her sister could manage to pull off something like that, she thought with a sigh and a shake of her head.

“I hope we’re not intruding, my lady.” A voice spoke.

Sansa looked up to see Lord Royce and Lady Waynwood standing a short distance away. “Not at all. Please join me.” Sansa said making room on the long wooden bench she was sitting on.

“Thank you, my lady.” Lord Royce said as he and Lady Waynwood sat down beside her. 

“What can I do for you, my lords?” Sansa asked politely, tucking the letter inside her pocket as she turned to face them.

“A letter from the north, my lady. The fighting at the wall has ended and the Wildlings have been driven back. The realm is finally at peace again, and Lord Bolton of Winterfell and the Dreadfort has sent an offer for your hand in marriage. Your great uncle Brynden Tully and your half-brother, Jon Snow, have accepted on your behalf. Lord Bolton is coming south personally, to escort you home to Winterfell. They’re expected to arrive in the next few weeks.” Lord Yohn Royce spoke softly. 

Sansa sat there, stunned and at a loss for words. She had always known she would be expected to marry one lord or another for the good of her family and the North. She was of age and a daughter of one of the oldest noble families in the realm,, but still, it took her by surprise that it was happening so suddenly. She wasn’t sure what to say or do now that the time had finally come. Speechless, Sansa sat there, hands fidgeting in her lap, unsure of how to respond. Mercifully, Lady Waynwood took pity on her and moved to reassure her, while Lord Royce looked on, uncomfortably silent.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Cersei sat in the chair in front of her vanity, sipping a glass of Arbor gold, as her handmaids did her hair. For once she was in a good mood. Nothing could spoil her day. The wedding of her halfwit stepdaughter to her horrid little dwarf of a brother had taken place in the Sept of Baelor a week ago, and they had set out for Casterly Rock. That little oaf Theon was a hostage of Lord Bolton at Winterfell, and the only obstacle to her seizing power in the Iron Islands was her idiot husband, Balon. Soon enough, she would be rid of him too, and then she would seize power for herself and rule the Iron Islands. Cersei glared at her handmaid’s reflection in the mirror of her vanity. Finally, she finished, and Cersei stood, dressed in one of her finest gowns as she strode out of her chambers and made her way down to the private dining hall for dinner.

Striding into the hall, she looked around finding the dining hall empty save for Balon who was waiting for her. The servants had already set the table for a private dinner. Sitting down, she offered Balon a falsely sweet smile as the servants carried out the first course. A soup consisting of fish, rice and the few local vegetables they managed to grow here on the Iron Islands. A servant opened a rare bottle of Arbor gold and moved to fill their glasses. After filling Balon’s glass, he moved the fill hers, and Cersei thanked him with a discreet nod. Everything was going according to plan.

They ate their soup, sipping their wine as the second course, a dish of venison baked in spices, was brought in and the servant once again refilled their glasses. Before she could raise the glass to her lips, Balon smiled at her and proposed a toast. 

“To our long and happy future together, and the prosperity of the Iron Islands.” He said, drinking deeply from his glass. Cersei echoed his words and downed her glass, in one long gulp, motioning for the servant to refill her glass. But then Balon spoke again.

“And to the bond of brotherhood we Iron Islanders share.” He said, as Cersei motioned again for the servant only to find he had left, replaced now, by a face she recognized with dawning apprehension and horror, the wine glass slipping from her hand.

“We Iron Islanders share a bond that you Greenlanders will never know,” Balon said, standing up and walking around the table, as Cersei began to wheeze, her hands clutching her throat as she began to choke. “It’s a bond of trust and brotherhood that binds us together. We support each other, stand by each other through good and ill. We’d never betray each other for the sake of a Greenlander’s ambitions.” Balon spoke, standing over her as the man from the apothecary looked on at the edge of the hall, silently watching as she climbed clumsily to her feet and staggered a few paces from the table only to collapse in a heap on the hard stone floor. “Such a shame that you couldn’t share in that bond,” Balon spoke from above, as Cersei went limp, no longer moving. “Such a shame.”

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Tywin stood on the edge of the docks dressed in a crimson doublet with gold buttons, a pair of black breeches, and one of the two Valyrian steel swords forged from the remains of ice strapped to his hip, his hand of the king badge on his shirt. To his left, her hand in his, stood Arya in her usual tunic and breeches, needle at her hip. To his right, Tommen wore his golden crown, a cream samite doublet and matching breeches, a cloth of gold sash and the ancestral sword of House Baratheon strapped on a belt at his waist. They were surrounded by the Kingsguard, soldiers from House Lannister dressed in crimson armor, and the members of the Small Council consisting of Varys, Tyrion, Grandmaester Pycelle and Lord Mace Tyrell. Pulling into the dock in front of them, the Dornish vessel came to a stop, the sigil of House Martell imprinted on the yellow sails.

As the crew anchored the ship, Prince Oberyn, his paramour and the Sand Snakes appeared on deck, slowly making their way down onto the docks to meet them. “Welcome to King’s Landing, Prince Oberyn,” Tommen said politely.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Prince Oberyn replied in as polite a voice as he could manage, coming to a stop a few paces away, a strained smile on his face as he glanced at Tywin.

“It’s a lovely city you have here, Your Grace,” Ellaria spoke, offering a polite smile as the Sand Snakes stood a few steps behind her.

“Your Grace, this is my paramour, Ellaria Sand, and my children,” Prince Oberyn stated, motioning to them.

After the introductions were made, the group made their way on horseback to the Red Keep. Tywin rode beside Prince Oberyn a few paces behind King Tommen and his Kingsguard. The city was once again prospering now that realm was at peace and the smallfolk lined the streets to see their king and the delegation from Dorne. They cheered and tossed flowers in the path of the procession. Already, the memory of Joffrey and Cersei’s tyranny was fading fast. Upon reaching the Red Keep, the procession filed into the Great Hall where servants waited to escort them to their chambers to freshen up for the welcome feast that had been arranged for them. Arya had struck up a conversation with the Sand Snakes, and already a friendship was forming between them.

Later that evening, at the feast Prince Oberyn and Tyrion traded crude jests and raunchy stories, each laughing as they sipped their wine. For his part, Tywin smiled and nodded along, although the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Beside him, Arya and the Sand Snakes were discussing various fighting styles and trading tips. After the feast and the official welcome, Prince Oberyn was formally invited to take up his position on the Small Council. That evening, after they retired to their rooms for the night, Tywin and Arya lay in each other’s arms. The next day promised to be the start of a long and prosperous future for the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. The Lords Paramount of the realm had dismissed their bannermen and retired to their castles once more after sending in formal declarations of fealty to Tommen as their King.

XxxxxxxxxxxX

Author’s note. After this is the epilogue and the end of the story. It’s very author’s universe but it has been an altogether pleasant alternative story. I want to thank everyone who favorited, followed and reviewed this story. I appreciate all the support and hope you all enjoyed it very much. Thank you again.


	21. Epilogue

Epilogue

In the years that followed the end of the War of the Five Kings, a lot of things had changed.

Tywin and Arya had been married happily for a little over five years with two small boys of their own. Eddard and Cregan. 

Sansa had returned to Winterfell in the North after what had seemed an entire lifetime, wedding Roose Bolton in the Godswood.

Lady Shireen Baratheon was now Overlord of the Stormlands and betrothed to Robert Arryn, the young lord of the Vale, and was gradually helping him become the man he needed to be. They had agreed to Summer in the Vale and Winter in the Stormlands while making occasional progressions throughout their two lands.

Jon Snow remained Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a brotherhood that was gradually edging its way back from the brink of catastrophe. After the North had settled, Roose Bolton had kept his promise to aid the floundering Night’s Watch, sending supplies and capable men to train the raw recruits into an effective force. While the Wildlings had lost the great battle, the war was far from over. The Night’s Watch was now able to man seven of the fourteen castles along the wall which meant there were still many places for the Wildlings to slip past them and attack settlements in the North.

After the death of Balon Greyjoy, Theon had been released to take up his place as Lord of the Iron Islands on condition that he never again attack the North. As part of the truce, the Iron Islanders were given permission to settle along the coast and farm the land there for the food they couldn’t grow themselves, on the Iron Islands.

Tyrion and Yara had settled into the Westerlands and began governing in Tywin’s stead. Over time and with permission from his father, Tyrion had restored the ravaged lands belonging to the Raynes and beneath the ruins of the old keep, they discovered a number of active, but unknown veins of gold from the mines that had belonged to House Rayne before their fall.

Jaime had become Lord Commander of the Kingsguard after the truth about why he had killed the Mad King came out. The knowledge that Aerys had planned to destroy the entire city with wildfire had shocked many in the realm, though none found it difficult to believe.

Tommen had recently married Margaery Tyrell in a lavish ceremony at the Great Sept in King’s Landing, and many of the nobility of the realm had been in attendance, including Sansa, to Arya’s and their mother’s delight.

Looking down at his little wolf and their family playing in the courtyard of the Tower of the Hand, Tywin allowed himself a real and lasting smile. “Yes. Things had certainly changed.” He thought to himself.


End file.
